#he’d have quit or been fired within the first week if he even dared to enlist (which he wouldn’t have)

[captainsjack]

every time an author mentions ethan’s supposed military background i immediately have to close out of the fic. girl ethan hunt would not touch the us military with a mile long pole. clearly you never sat for hours on you basement floor on cold ass tile straining your neck up to look at the tv & click through all of the characters’ background files on the mi1 dvd special features . u don’t KNOW him

[tamurilofrivendell]

The Dragon | part 2 | Thranduil x Reader

{Part One} {Part Two} {Part Three} {Part Four} read on AO3

A/N: the first part was meant to be it but I honestly couldn’t stop myself writing more beause I got attached so here we are… there will be a couple more where they can finally work shit out.

Pairing: Thranduil x Female Reader

Summary: All discussions of what to do with the dragon have not gone well and as time passes Thranduil’s frustration only seems to grow.

Content etc: Angst. Brief violence? Assumed unrequited feelings. Tiniest bit of fluff.

tags: @firelightinferno​​, @achromaticerebus​​, @coopsgirl​​, @birbixo0912​​, @desert-fern​​​, @ancient-rime​​, @captainchrisstan​

You and Thranduil had found yourselves very unable to come to any sort of conclusion after he had released you from the dungeon without killing your dragon. You had argued, quite horribly, and you had both said some things that you perhaps hadn’t meant. Thranduil had thrown you out and ordered you to stay within the confines of your chamber and under no circumstances were you or Aegnor allowed to leave it. A guard was posted outside and food was delivered right to your door. You supposed it was better than still being locked down  in the dungeon as though you were nothing but an orc.

Thranduil did not come to see you for the first three days, his anger so high that he was afraid of what he might do. Though he knew now that he did not have it in him to hurt you, he still felt as though you had betrayed him rather severely, and having no real way to resolve it was only making him angrier. After three days he found that he had calmed enough to start paying you visits… but the king would not pass the threshold. He always stayed in the doorway, not daring to set foot inside as he might have done in the past.

However, his patience was continuing to grow thinner by the day. That… thing was still small right now but it would grow larger every day. In his long life, he had read many books about the fire-breathing lizards of the north. The first few months after hatching they stayed very small but after that their growth and advancement was fairly rapid. In three weeks it will have grown to the size of a young wolf. Thranduil predicted that in three more it would be the size of a small pony. His fear was spiking once more and he was seriously struggling to come to terms with the fact that he was even allowing this creature to stay here. Those who knew about it had also been shocked, though they had the sense not to voice it to him. Thranduil barely slept or even rested, always listening, always waiting, preparing for the day he’d inevitably have to face the fire once more for his people.

He did not tell you any of this. He probably would have in the past but now he could not. This had caused a rift between you both that he was not entirely certain he could repair, a fact which pained him more than he could find words for. Should he even want to repair it? You had concealed this terrible thing from him, committed treason, pushed him well past his limits… and you had not yet even apologised for any of it.

He stood in the doorway with his arms crossed but his fingertips were ghosting over the hilt of his sword. Ready, if need be, to strike.

Aegnor was curled up on your lap. You were running your fingers over his scales but your eyes were on Thranduil.

“Will you not come in?” You asked him, though you already knew the answer.

Thranduil shook his head, his eyes flickering between you and Aegnor. The dragon did not look ready to launch an attack - indeed, it could not yet even breathe fire - yet Thranduil simply could not relax. It was driving him insane.

You lowered your gaze, looking at Aegnor with eyes full of sorrow. He would soon enough be too big to stay here, you knew this. All talk of what to do about it had ceased. You did not know what to do. Thranduil did not know what to do. He had told you that he did not feel comfortable simply letting the dragon loose and walking away. You knew that, truthfully, Thranduil did not feel comfortable allowing the creature to live at all.

You could see no way around it but you knew that you would not let him hurt Aegnor. You had become far too attached to the animal. Thranduil would have to kill you first. You both knew it. Though only he knew that he wouldn’t be able to actually do it. You, on the other hand, were very certain that he would do it (and do it happily) if you so much as set one more toe out of line.

You looked down at Aegnor again and frowned, holding back a sigh. He looked unhappy and you knew why but you had been too afraid to even broach the subject with Thranduil. Still, as you looked at the dragon’s sad little face you sighed and turned your attention back over towards him in the doorway.

“What?” The word left his mouth immediately, his voice practically a growl. He knew you were going to ask him for something. Your forlorn sigh had all but given it away and he knew you too well by now. This fact frustrated him.

You winced a little at his tone and glanced back down at your lap, frowning softly. “It’s just that…” You forced yourself to look back up at Thranduil, to have the decency to meet his gaze. “He needs to go outside.”

Thranduil shifted in the doorway, lifting his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose as he squeezed his eyes shut. You didn’t utter a single word as he stood there, breathing in and out very slowly as he did his best to stay calm. When he opened his eyes again, he didn’t look that much calmer to your eyes, but he gestured for you to follow him and turned on his heel, starting off down the hall.

You scrambled to your feet, gathering Aegnor in your arms as you did, and hurried to catch up with Thranduil. You remembered a time when he would have waited and walked beside you down the hallway, sometimes even offering you his arm. You supposed those days were long over but in the back of your mind you told yourself this was still better than nothing.

“Hide it.” He ordered over his shoulder, not bothering to look at you. That was the way you viewed it, at least, but in truth he simply did not dare. He was absolutely fuming, you could practically feel it radiating from him in thick waves.

Carefully, you tucked Aegnor away into your cloak, shushing him when he croaked in frustration. Thranduil did swing his head around then, gaze burning into your cloak like he was a warg ready to go in for the kill and the intensity of his glare actually caused you to stop moving, briefly wondering if you were about to have to make another run for it.

After an uncomfortably long moment, Thranduil turned and continued walking as if nothing had happened, but his strides were quicker and you ended up trailing too far behind him. He waited impatiently for you to follow him through to his chambers, though it made his skin crawl. He had already had the thing in here of course, while you were both attempting to negotiate some sort of solution, and he had hated it just as much then but he wasn’t allowing you outside of these halls and he didn’t want to risk a public outdoor area where just anybody could see. The entire realm did not yet know and he would rather not cause a complete panic… or bring about questions regarding his leadership. It was bad enough he was questioning himself, he didn’t need the entirety of his people to do it too.

He ushered you through to one of his gardens, gesturing for you to go out of the door. Again, he stayed in the entryway looking out, his hand hovering close to his sword.

Your heart was heavy as you looked away from Thranduil and started walking further into the garden. Aegnor crawled out from inside your cloak and made his way up the front of your body, using his little claws to climb his way up your cloak to your shoulder, where he made himself comfortable and looked around at his new surroundings.

Thranduil tensed in the doorway as he watched the dragon settle itself upon your shoulder. Despite everything, he still felt very protective of you. Maybe even more so. Much to his frustration.

He watched but nothing bad happened, just like all the other times he’d expected the dragon to bite or suddenly find its breath and start exhaling fire everywhere. He hadn’t so much as seen a flicker of a flame but he knew it would not be much longer. Every time he thought of it, an ice cold wave of dread descended upon him and he felt like he was drowning in it. Ever since he had found out about you and the dragon, he had felt like he was drowning and Thranduil did not know how to find his way back to the surface.

You moved to sit down on one of the benches and reached up to gently pet Aegnor on the snout. “Go on then…” You said softly, turning your head so you could see him. “Go and play.” You weren’t sure when he would next be afforded this opportunity so you wanted him to make the most of it.

Aegnor paused only a moment, looking from you back to Thranduil over by the door. He eyed the king carefully before he moved, hopping down and loping across the grass where he settled by a flowerbed and started to properly explore.

You watched him, deciding not to look at Thranduil. You would likely only see anger or derision and you were tired of seeing it. You missed the tenderness, the friendship.

Thranduil stood where he was for a long while. He intended to keep an eye on the dragon but his attention kept getting pulled in your direction. You looked so downcast and dejected and, despite himself, he wished he could make it go away.

Surprising himself, he took a step forward and then another, his legs leading him along the path towards you. He hovered only a brief moment, unsure, before he sat down on the bench beside you.

Neither of you spoke for a moment. He was looking at you, you could feel it, but you didn’t turn your head. You kept your gaze on Aegnor who had turned to look at you, afraid for a moment that Thranduil was going to hurt you. You raised your hand and gestured for him to continue looking around. Aegnor hesitated for a minute but then he moved again, trampling across the grass as he found a bird to chase.

“What was that?” The Elvenking asked.

The sudden sound of his voice made you jump a little but you did finally turn to look at him. “He doesn’t trust you. He believes you could hurt me.”

Thranduil scoffed, narrowing his gaze across the garden. “The feeling is mutual.”

You sighed, shaking your head as you looked away again but you should have known it wouldn’t be ignored.

“What?” His voice had that dangerous bite to it again.

“Nothing.”

Thranduil barked a laugh but it was anything but warm. “Well, do not suddenly act shy now. Say what it is you want to say.”

“I would not wish to insult you, my king.” You quipped, the words spilling from your mouth before you could stop them.

Thranduil’s expression darkened. “I’m afraid we are well past that by now, little one.”

You wished he would stop calling you that. Where the nickname used to be an endearment (and feel as such) it had taken on a tone that made you want to cry, and it felt like he now only used it as a weapon with which to stab you.

Lowering your head, you let your hair fall across your face so that he could not see the tears beginning to gather in your eyes. You didn’t answer him, even as you wondered if not answering would just make him more frustrated with you. You didn’t know what to say anymore.

Thranduil, too, went silent. He was looking at you again, not the dragon, and he felt horrible. He longed for the days back when he would be spending his time making you laugh instead of cry.

He turned his attention back to the garden and suddenly jumped up from the bench. “Where is it?!” He demanded, his fingers closing around the hilt of his sword and pulling it from it’s sheath.

Your head snapped up, not caring anymore if he saw your tears, and you too leapt from the bench. You grabbed hold of his arm without thinking, pulling at him. “Thranduil! Thranduil, wait! Please, wait!”

He turned to look at you, eyes wild with the look of a madman ready to kill whatever got in his way. Thranduil blinked as he looked back at you and you felt the muscles in his arm relax the most miniscule amount. “Where is it?’ He asked again, and this time you could hear the slightest hint of fear as he did.

You frowned softly up at him, wishing you could somehow put him at ease. However, you knew that as long as Aegnor was here, you could not. Your fingers squeezed his arm gently in some small attempt to be reassuring. "He will not have gone far. I will find him. Please just… put the sword down, it scares him.”

There was a brief sort of stand off during which the two of you just stood staring back at each other, as if both waiting for the other to yield in some way. Eventually, Thranduil took a step back, gently shaking you off him. Your touch was still something he could not deal with for a length of time. He did not sheath his sword but he did drop it, holding it down at his side, the tip pointing to the ground.

That would have to do.

Slowly, you broke eye contact with him and turned to survey the garden. It was quiet and still now and you had the slightest hint of worry taking hold of you as you started to move across the grass. “Aegnor!” You called softly, hoping that he would come out quickly. You weren’t sure if Thranduil would stay as he was for very long. “Aegnor, come on out… it’s okay. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

Somewhere behind you, you heard Thranduil scoff again, but you ignored it.

Moving over to the fountain in the corner, you suddenly came upon a sight that made you laugh out loud. “Come and see this!” You called to Thranduil before you could help yourself.

Thranduil stayed very still for a very long moment before he forced his legs to move, walking towards you in quick strides. He peered over your shoulder with mild curiosity.

There, beneath the deep water of the fountain, Aegnor was swimming in laps.

Thranduil’s frowned softly as he took in the sight. He stepped closer without really meaning to, his hands coming to rest upon the stone edge of the fountain.

It was a slightly bizarre sight simply because of the kind of creature that Aegnor was. Water was no friend to fire. However, it was a little more than that that had captured Thranduil’s attention. It was just such a normal thing for the baby dragon to be doing and he looked to be enjoying it so much, taking such great joy in it, that it threw Thranduil for a moment. Much as you telling him that Aegnor had been afraid of him that first time had done.

He had expected to find the creature plotting or scheming some sort of escape or attack in some dark corner of the garden. Instead, he found it… playing.

You had dropped to your knees beside him, leaning against the fountain as you watched, laughing softly. Thranduil turned his head to look at you, watching you with the same soft frown on his face.

A few more laps and then Aegnor popped his head back up out of the water, splashing you a little, drawing another laugh from you. This one was louder, brighter and Thranduil even felt himself soften just slightly as he looked at you. It was clear this animal brought you a great deal of joy… he just wished it was a raven or something.

His attention moved back to the dragon, who had its front legs up against the side of the fountain, regarding the both of you with a curiously tilted head. Then he shook himself, water droplets landing on your hair and Thranduil’s cloak. You reached out for Aegnor, petting his scales in the way you knew he liked, giggling as he nuzzled your hand back, a soft sound coming from the back of his throat. Thranduil shifted a little beside you as he always did when Aegnor made a noise but he did not move away. Aegnor jumped up onto the side of the fountain then, wriggling his wings a little before he drew them back against his body and sat down in front of you, enjoying your continued attentions.

Thranduil was quiet for a long time and you wondered if he was about to explode again. You could have burst with shock yourself when you watched the king’s hand tentatively, hesitantly, reach out towards Aegnor, gracing him with just the briefest touch of his fingertips before he quickly withdrew his hand and turned on his heel.

“Playtime is over.”

───────────────────────────────────

Thranduil allowed Aegnor into the garden most days after that, though once again he took to lingering over by the door, keeping silent watch. It felt, to you, like five steps backwards and it made you a little unhappy but you were grateful he was even letting Aegnor up here.

Thranduil was angry at himself for his slip in actually touching the dragon like he had. He wasn’t even sure what had brought it on, what had possessed him. Something about you laughing and regarding the dragon with such joy, perhaps, had caused it to overcome him for a moment. He couldn’t really make any sense of it.

Aegnor seemed not to notice the tension anymore as he happily played in Thranduil’s garden. He swam in the fountain, chased birds and butterflies that flew in to escape the darkness of the forest outside, seemed enamoured with certain types of plants and flowers, and began to learn how to fly.

This latter point was yet another source of contention between you and Thranduil.

The first time Aegnor did it, he had just gotten out of the fountain. He’d shook himself off and then moved to hop down from the side. Instead of landing on the grass as usual, you’d watched him glide all the way from the fountain to the bench where you were waiting for him. He was very low to the ground and it hadn’t been the longest distance but you were overjoyed as you gathered him up from where he landed at your feet and praised him. Aegnor had seemed happy at your excitement, perhaps even a little proud of himself.

When you’d looked up at Thranduil, however, he had a dark look on his face and was pinning Aegnor with a sour glare.

After he’d walked you back to your room, you’d gently pushed Aegnor inside first and then turned to look up at him before he could close you in.

“What was that look out there for this time?” You’d asked, too curious and - honestly - upset to hold your tongue.

Thranduil had stared down his nose at you with a frown. “It can fly.”

You glanced over your shoulder to where Aegnor had gone over to his nest of pillows in the corner beside your bed, and curled up with his eyes closed.

“Dragons fly…” You said as you turned back to Thranduil, blinking up at him.

His gaze had followed yours over to Aegnor but at your words his attention flickered back to your face. His frown returned. “I know dragons fly.” He muttered, shaking his head at you. “If he is flying, it will not be long before he can breathe fire.” Thranduil continued, though it didn’t escape your notice that he had referred to Aegnor as he again instead of it. “He cannot stay much longer.”

Before you could respond, he turned around and left, quick footsteps carrying him away down the hall. He did not miss, however, the crestfallen look on your face as he did so.

───────────────────────────────────

The next few times Aegnor sailed through the air across the garden, Thranduil didn’t say anything. In fact, he hadn’t spoken a word for the last few visits to the garden. His silence was both agonising and anxiety-inducing. You didn’t know where his mind was. Nowhere good, you assumed, but still you wished you were able to take a peek at his thoughts.

Thranduil was still scared out of his mind. He was still barely rested and, just that morning, Feren had walked in on him five wines down and near tears brought on by pure fear, as his mind flooded him with images of both the past and of the possible future if he allowed this dragon to stay much longer. Feren had implored him to tell you what he was feeling but Thranduil had refused. He couldn’t. He no longer wished to be vulnerable with you. Not after what you had done. Not after how you had betrayed him and… completely broken his heart. Truthfully, it was not that he didn’t wish to be vulnerable with you. He wished it very much. He wished things could go back to the way they had been, before the dragon. However, he refused to put himself in such a position.

He stood this day, as usual, in the doorway. Watching the dragon. Watching you. Quietly trying to decide what he should do about this entire situation. He wanted the dragon gone. He needed it gone. In all honesty, he was sorely regretting his decision not to just destroy the beast when he’d had the chance, when he’d first intended. The longer he had allowed this little indulgence to continue, the more attached he had watched you become. Now, he found himself unable to just make a decision.

Kill the dragon, lose you for good.

Allow the dragon to live, put his entire realm in danger. Possibly the world.

His skin felt like it was on fire as he stood there, now just staring off into space as his tangled thoughts had gotten the best of him.

When Aegnor seemed to have had all the fun and fresh air he could take and came gliding over to you, you picked him up and stood with a smile, murmuring endearments to him as you turned to walk back over to Thranduil.

You froze the second you lifted your head. “Thranduil…” His name left your lips in a whisper, your breath catching in your throat.

It was only then that Thranduil realised that he was no longer concealing his scars - that he couldn’t - and that the sensation that had been bubbling up inside him was due to this very issue.

He turned his head, letting his hair fall across his face as he started to move back inside. “Take the dragon back to your chamber.” Was the last thing he said to you before he disappeared completely into another room.

When you were finally able to move again, you trailed through the hallways with Aegnor under your cloak and slipped back into your chamber with him. For a long moment, you sat in silence on the edge of your bed. Aegnor could sense your unhappiness, however he was so tired out that he fell asleep in the middle of trying to comfort you. You smiled half-heartedly as you gave him a little kiss and then stood, turning for the door. You threw one glance over your shoulder before you left, thankful for the guard outside being in the middle of swapping with another guard which meant you were able to slip away down the hall unseen.

Your legs carried you back in the direction of Thranduil’s chambers, though you knew it was a bit of a risk. You were aware that he would be angry, furious even. Most of all, you knew he was feeling vulnerable, and you knew just how much he hated that.

Upon reaching his door, however, you hesitated for a long while. You lingered in the hallway until a sound from round the corner forced you into action and you pushed the door open, slipping inside and shutting it behind you before you could be discovered.

The room was dark and it was so quiet you almost wondered if maybe he wasn’t here, until you heard a muffled groan from the bed. You frowned, turning your attention towards the noise as you started to move closer. You were very aware of the fact this could bring his wrath down upon you once more but you didn’t really care. You were too worried about him.

Thranduil had buried himself beneath a mountain of sheets, trying to block out the world, block out the pain, block out his very existence. It was very much not working. His face felt like it was literally on fire. This would sometimes happen, though it happened less now than it used to in the past. It would flare again when things got too much. The healers said it was mostly psychological by now. His burns would feel almost as they had the day he received them and he would find it much harder, or completely impossible, to conceal them.

“What do you think you’re doing?” His voice was muffled by the sheets but his tone still cut enough to make you hesitate briefly before you pushed your panic away and crossed the rest of the distance towards the bed. You halted at the edge, your knees touching the sheets.

“Thranduil…”

His response came quick, his tone supposed to be hard but wavering as a flash of pain shot through him. “Leave.”

You could point out the exact second that Thranduil lost his composure, if he’d even really had it to begin with. Throwing all caution out the window in your worry, you leaned down and began to attempt to extract him from beneath the sheets. “Please, at least let me look at you… you might need treatment…”

Thranduil’s arm snaked out from his hiding place and his fingers harshly grasped your wrist, pulling you down and onto your back in one quick movement. In almost the same instant he’d thrown the covers away and was looming over you.

“Look then!” He thundered. “Look at the damage monsters like your little pet can inflict!”

Even through the pitch black of the room, you could see the uneven lacerations across the left side of his face, the muscle beneath, the white of his blind eye. It was horrifying to look upon but only because you could scarcely even imagine the pain he had had to endure.

The silence was loud as he glared down at you, his breathing heavy. He was strong even now as he held you in place but you could feel him shaking just a little. Without thinking about it, you slowly lifted your free hand to cup his unscarred cheek. His eyes drifted shut at the contact and his tense expression relaxed a little.

You stared up at him, thumb gently caressing his skin. You felt terrible. You knew that his being like this right now was due to Aegnor. You had brought the dragon here and you hadn’t truly stopped to consider just how much stress and strain it would be putting upon him. The thought had occurred to you, sure, but you’d mostly only been focused on his rage. Beneath it all, simmering away, had been this. It was your fault he was suffering like this and the thought caused tears to gather in your eyes.

“I am so sorry.” You whispered then, finally uttering those long overdue words.

Thranduil opened his eyes and stared down at you. He was quiet and, truthfully, he was surprised. He had been angry that you had not yet apologised but he had told himself it would be too little too late if it ever did come. He’d been wrong because, suddenly, he realized those words were everything.

So overcome was he that he acted without a single thought as he leaned in and captured your mouth with his own.

So surprised were you that you immediately froze, unable to even respond to the kiss.

Thranduil mistook your reaction for disinterest or offence and he immediately pulled back and let go of you, moving to face away from you. “Leave.” He said again, but the fight had gone out of him.

You stayed where you were for a few moments, completely stunned by what he’d just done, before you came back to yourself and sat up. “No.” You told him, reaching out to touch his shoulder. He flinched and shrugged your hand away.

With a sigh, you stood up from the bed. Thranduil assumed you were leaving but he lifted his head just slightly when he heard your footsteps going in the wrong direction. You disappeared into an adjoining room but you returned too quickly for him to say anything. You walked back over to the bed and sat beside him.

“Lie down.” You said softly, looking at him with sad eyes. In your hands you held a cool, damp cloth and an all too familiar jar of ointment.

Thranduil hesitated, staring at you and wondering whether he should mention his stupidity from a few moments ago, but he soon decided that if you were not going to then neither was he. Slowly, he eased himself back down, resting his head upon his pillow.

You smiled just a little then, angling yourself towards him as you opened the jar and took a little of the ointment on your fingers. Taking care to be very gentle, you smoothed the ointment on the areas around his scars, just at the edges.

Sometimes when he was like this Thranduil would forgo treating himself in any way, as if it were some sort of punishment. He knew it was wrong but it was a habit he would often default to.

Thranduil watched you very carefully. He could feel his ire decreasing and he could feel his face stinging a little less. There was slight wonder in his expression as he stared at you. How you could even look at his face like this, how you could touch it! It made his heart swell, though the thought of his unreturned kiss caused it to close up again just a little. Of course you didn’t return his feelings. How could you? Why would you?

Next, you placed the cloth over the entire left side of his face, watching as it seemed to take effect almost immediately. Thranduil’s eyes closed at the cooling sensation and he hummed in satisfaction.

“Oh, that is much better…” He admitted in a whisper and you couldn’t help but smile as you gave his hand a squeeze.

“I’m glad.” You said quietly, gazing at him for a moment longer before you stood and turned in the direction of the door.

“Wait.” His fingers closing around your wrist, this time gently, made you turn back to him. He was looking at you again and what you could see of his expression looked so unsure your heart nearly broke. “Stay.” He murmured. “Stay until I fall asleep.”

It surprised you but you were quick to agree, settling yourself back on the edge of the bed with a soft smile. “Of course.” You pulled the sheets up, making sure he was comfortable. It struck you then that he looked absolutely exhausted and you wondered just how much sleep he’d actually been getting.

He lay there staring at you for a long while until you finally laughed. “You’ll never sleep if you don’t close your eyes.”

Your remark pulled the slightest of chuckles from him - a real one - the first you had heard in what felt like a very long time.

Thranduil nodded his agreement before he dutifully closed his eyes and focused on the cool sensation of the cloth on his face and the warm presence of you beside him.

Just when you thought he’d fallen asleep, his voice sounded again. “Thank you.” For the apology and for helping him. “Tomorrow we will try to talk again… about Aegnor.”

The dragon’s name from his lips shocked you and, despite his eyes being shut, the slight smirk pulling at the right corner of his mouth told you he knew it.

You stayed there until Thranduil finally did fall asleep and then you stood. You might have stayed the whole night if things were different but you decided against it. Besides, you needed to go back to your own chamber and make sure Aegnor was fed.

Your thoughts flickered back to the kiss as you turned for the door. You’d almost forgotten about it in your desire to help him. You weren’t really sure what to make of it. The moment had been strange and perhaps he had simply been confused, caught up, something… you didn’t know and you decided you weren’t going to embarrass or anger him by asking. Tensions had been running high and he’d been very vulnerable. People did lots of things they’d never dream of when they were feeling that way. It wasn’t about you, you decided, albeit a little sadly.

Still, you couldn’t resist turning back just slightly and leaning down to press a soft kiss to his unscarred cheek before you scurried from the room.

The guard outside your door gave you a look of complete shock as he watched you rush past him and close yourself away. He’d been certain you were already inside the room and he just hoped that he wouldn’t face his king’s wrath tomorrow.

Aegnor was still asleep when you entered so you turned to ready yourself for bed and slipped under the covers, feeling suddenly drained as your emotions caught up with you.

You truly hoped that you and Thranduil might be able to work better together this time to come to some sort of decision about Aegnor that would suit everyone, as difficult as it may be.

Closing your eyes, doing your best to ignore your nerves for the day that lay ahead, you eventually drifted off to sleep with the memory of Thranduil’s lips on yours.

[eoieopda]

Hi Jade :)

I just found your blog, and I enjoy reading your work 😊

May I request, Yoongi braiding his daughter's hair? Or maybe he's braiding his wife's and daughter's hair and they kinda quarrel who will be braid first? Ahaha. Or maybe they braid Yoongi's hair instead? Ah, but it can be anything, up to you. Just write what you feel like writing.

Take all the time you need. No rush 😊

eeeeeek so this is the same AU as the other dadchwita™️ fic because i’m kind of obsessed with this family?? lol. hope you enjoy it 💕🫶🏻

Darksided AU Masterlist

Yoongi was a perfectionist.

He didn’t do anything half-way, so when he started a task, he put everything he had into it. This work ethic had, of course, served him well over the course of his career. The only downside was his inability to stop unless the finished product was flawless.

Yoongi became good at things largely out of spite. It annoyed him on a cellular level when he couldn’t get the hang of something new. Worse, he accepted challenges that no one actually posed. He felt the need to prove himself even if nobody demanded it.

Last week, you’d unknowingly thrown down the gauntlet.

He’d spent forty minutes in front of the mirror that morning, twisting and turning with his mouth hanging open as he concentrated. He tirelessly attempted to mimic the motions he’d seen you make a thousand times; dead set on replicating them on himself before he dared to try them on his daughter. Surely, he’d picked up something from watching you.

When he finally finished, he walked with aching fingers into the kitchen. The first words out of your mouth were:

“Aww, did Iseul braid your hair?”

It wasn’t a challenge and it certainly wasn’t an insult, but it lit a fire under his ass. It didn’t burn quite as brightly as your cheeks did upon learning that he braided his hair; but it was sufficient.

Your little coo changed the course of the following week.

Any time you sat down near him, Yoongi would wrap his arms around your waist and scoot you into the space between his legs. If you didn’t giggle so much every time he trapped you, he might’ve thought his incessant practicing drove you up a wall. Before slipping into the zone, he would rain kisses down upon your cheek in an expression of gratitude.

You were the perfect model: instructive, affirming, and most importantly, you sat still. It couldn’t have been easy for you to scrunch up and lean back for the considerable amount of time it took him, but you never once complained. The cheek kisses, he hoped, contributed to your cooperation.

Every now and then, you’d hum contentedly or even doze off while he weaved your soft strands into something resembling his goal: regular braids to start; then their fancier, French counterpart. After seven rigorous days of training, he felt ready for his greatest challenge yet.

You sat on the bathroom counter with one eyebrow quirked and one finger gesturing to his hands, “This feels a bit excessive.”

He tugged the sweatband over his head to his neck, then he pushed it — and his hair — away from his face. Leaning forward to the mirror, he continued making adjustments as he teased you, “Sounds like something an amateur would say.”

“Excuse you!” You gasped, landing a playful smack on his bicep. Your eyes were wide with amusement despite your best efforts to look incredulous, “Show your instructor some respect, Mr. Min!”

He shot you a wink — and before you suspected a thing, he plucked you off your perch. You were easily maneuvered, and within seconds, you were folded in half over his shoulder and squealing. He mimicked your playful swat, though his target was your ass — a sitting duck in black sweatpants, waiting right beside his head.

“Sorry, Mrs. Min,” he called back to you as he made his way out of the bathroom, “But I was called up to the majors. I’m pretty far out of your league now.”

The walk to the living room was much too short. He needed another hour or so to tease that musical, full-body laugh out of you. Fortunately for you, though, Yoongi had a date with destiny.

More specifically, with the critic whose approval he craved the most: the five-year-old planted on the couch with a small bowl of goldfish crackers. She didn’t acknowledge her parents’ entrance into the room. Her gaze was cemented on the television ahead — on Muppet Treasure Island, which she’d insisted on watching daily for the past three weeks.

“Aegiya!” Yoongi called out as he stepped into her line of vision. The hand not anchoring your body to his waved vigorously ahead; Iseul didn’t bat an eye. He repeated himself more loudly, dragging out the syllables, “Aegiya!”

You piped up: “Good luck getting her attention while Cabin Fever is playing.”

He patted your ass to silence you, then he stepped directly in front of the screen. “Iseul,” he whined.

She narrowed her eyes. Through a mouthful of half-chewed crackers, she chided, “You sound like Duri when you do that, daddy.”

You always said she was his clone, but that unimpressed tone was all you.

“Never mind that,” he pointed at her, then he amplified the dramatics, “Gongjunim, the time has come —“ he paused for effect, but she was unbothered, “— For me to braid your hair.”

Her eyebrows shot up — yeah, definitely your daughter — and the hand conveying snacks to her mouth froze in mid-air. “Mama, is this allowed?”

You wriggled free of Yoongi’s grip and shimmied down the front of his body. He remained still with his hand extended outwards, knees bent as if he was bracing himself for impact.

Slipping around him, you slid into the spot beside your mini-me. Once there, you whispered something in her ear. Iseul giggled, a wind chime just like you.

Then, her arm extended, palm up. Wordlessly, she beckoned Yoongi by folding her fingers inward firmly, just once. When he stepped closer, she smiled mischievously up at him, “Now, you kneel.”

Yoongi’s shot you a look. This was absolutely your doing.

Menace.

But he was wrapped completely around Iseul’s finger, and he’d do just about anything she asked, so he bowed: “As you wish, gongjunim.”

As soon as he got down to her level, she whirled around to face the back of the couch. When she flicked her hair over her shoulders, it flew right into his open eyes and mouth. He sputtered, furiously wiping her flyaways from his face, but quickly regained his composure.

Hands held at the ready, he wiggled his fingers in anticipation. Then, he turned to you with his eyes narrowed in determination.

“Time me.”

[ladyviolethummingbird]

The Gloaming

An Outlander/Jane Eyre crossover

Read chapter 1 here

Read chapter 2 here

Chapter 3: Wolverton Hall

An imposing grey stone building, Wolverton Hall looked like the kind of place that would be draughty even in the summer. A thick wood bordered it on two sides and in the pale morning sun it almost melted into the landscape. Boots crunching on the gravelled forecourt, Jamie headed towards the front door. Made of oak, it held a sizeable wrought iron dragon’s head as a knocker. Rapping with the metal ring, he took a fortifying breath and waited.

The minutes ticked by and Jamie wondered if the servants had been given the day off. At length, the door opened and he was greeted by a man in his mid-thirties wearing a fine blue coat. Jamie stuck out a hand by way of introduction.

“James Fraser, pleased to make your acquaintance, Sir”

The man in the blue coat’s eyes widened as he took Jamie in.

“Good heavens man, what happened?! Are you all right?”

No overcoat, arm in a sling, suit torn and muddied: Jamie looked quite the sight. As first impressions go, it was a terrible one. His face fell, convinced he’d be turned away from the house before even starting his new job.

“I ah...got into a spot of bother on the way here from Lerwick. But if ye have a laundry I can use...”

“Oh don’t worry about any of that, I’ll have one of the maids sort some clean clothes for you. Do you need a doctor?”

“No, I’m fine; really, Mr...?”

“Abernathy, Joseph Abernathy. I’m the butler here at the hall.”

To Jamie’s great relief Mr Abernathy had a kind face and, smiling, ushered him into the house.

“Now, if you’re sure you’re all right Mr Fraser, at least let me take your bag for you.”

“Thank ye, Mr Abernathy”

Jamie followed his host through to a wood-panelled parlour. Hunting trophies adorned the walls and suspended from the ceiling was a candelabra at least triple the size of a carriage wheel. Mr Abernathy poured Jamie a glass of whisky and bid him to wait while he went to speak to the cook about lunch.

Settling into a plush leather armchair, Jamie sipped his drink - enjoying the heat it brought to his belly. His chair was positioned beside a sizeable fireplace, the fire within crackling and popping as it warmed the room considerably, allowing his bones to begin to thaw from the chilled morning’s walk. Despite this, Jamie noticed a definite coldness to the house. It felt like he’d walked into a museum rather than a family home.

After being provided with fresh clothes and a bowl of warm water to clean himself up, lunch was served in the butler’s sitting room. Jamie was presented with a steaming bowl of stew and a large chunk of crusty bread, his empty stomach grumbling from the mere site of it. The meat it contained was was juicy and tender, leaving Jamie struggling to remember when he’d eaten a cut that wasn’t sinewy and requiring several minutes of chewing in order to swallow it. Those times, he dared to hope, were in the past and he wolfed the meal down, eagerly accepting seconds.

While they ate Mr Abernathy told him about Wolverton Hall. Built by Lord Jonathan Randall in the 1720s, it had remained in the family ever since. The present occupants were the English widow of the late Lord Franklin; Lady Claire and their son Fergus. Eight years old and with a mop of wild brown curls, he was a cheeky lad with a good heart. The information put Jamie at ease considerably.

“Is the family home at present?”

“No, her ladyship and Master Fergus are away on business. We’re not expecting them back until early next week”

Jamie breathed a sigh of relief. His shoulder would be healed by then; the last thing he wanted was his new employer to think he was unfit to perform his duties.

After lunch, Mr Abernathy showed Jamie to his new room. At the workhouse, bed was a canvas cot in a room with twenty seven others. At the blacksmith’s it was a mattress on the floor separated from the workshop by a thin sheet. Walking into his quarters at Wolverton Hall, he was dumbstruck. A canopy bed, writing desk, window overlooking the kitchen garden and a fireplace all to himself. As far as rooms in large houses went, it was perfectly standard, but to Jamie it was a palace.

The rest of the afternoon was spent touring the house and grounds. Marvelling at the fine stable of horses kept at the Estate, Jamie was in awe that all this finery was for the use of just two people. Assuring Mr Abernathy that he was well enough to ride, he saddled a grey speckled mare that afternoon and trotted through the wooded paths surrounding the house. There was so many new areas to discover and despite the chill in the air, Jamie was excited to begin work. It gave him a little thrill to know that he’s be back in the saddle again, especially riding horses as fine as those kept at Wolverton Hall.

As he lay down to sleep that night (on what he was quite certain was the softest bed he’d ever rested upon), Jamie reflected on the day. Despite their short acquaintance, he’d decided Mr Abernathy would be a source of congenial company; something that had been sorely lacking in his life for many years. The Butler was clearly a man of intelligence and Jamie had enjoyed discussing a number of subjects with him over supper. Originally from America, Abernathy had met the Randalls whilst they were travelling through Europe, and having no fixed plans himself had accepted an offer of employment. That had been eight years ago and in spite of the remoteness of the location, he found the situation suited him perfectly.

“Plenty of time for reading, Fraser. My mind can travel, even if my body does not. Do you read?”

Jamie had nodded in the affirmative and they’d spoken of their favourite tomes; Mr Abernathy offering to show him the library the following day.

“It’s an extensive collection, plenty of things to keep one’s wits sharp. Lady Randall is an erudite woman and would be pleased to have another reader in the household I’m sure”

“What else can you tell me of Lady Randall? I’m afraid I know very little of my new mistress”

Abernathy smiled at mention of the lady of the house, telling Jamie that when he’d first met Lady Randall she was one of the funniest and liveliest people he’d come across. Hailing from Oxford, which is where she’d met Lord Randall, they’d married when she was just 17. Doing the quick calculation, Jamie was surprised that a woman of the mistress’ age would be shut away in one of the remotest corners of the country. Intrigued, he wondered if perhaps she’d not recovered from the death of her husband to such a degree that she chose to shut herself away from the world? Keen to understand what he’d be dealing with, he pressed the butler further.

“I hope it isn’t out of place for me to ask, but did the passing of Lord Randall affect her deeply? Does she mourn him still?”

Mr Abernathy’s fork hit his plate with a clang. Collecting himself he quickly stood and began clearing the table.

“Yes very much. A wonderful man was Lord Randall. A great loss to us all”

It had been clear to Jamie that Abernathy was lying, but the butler’s diverted gaze told him that the subject was closed. Lying in bed hours later, Jamie pondered the reason for Abernathy’s reaction. Had Lady Randall been driven mad by grief? Was he worried that Jamie would leave if he knew the true state of his mistress?

Jamie did not have too much time to ponder this, as with a full stomach and a comfortable place to sleep for the first time since he’d been forced from his beloved Lallybroch, he was soon drifting into a blissful slumber. When dreams came however, they were not of Wolverton Hall but the golden eyes and gentle touch of the mystery woman in the forrest. Jamie smiled in his sleep.

[criminalmindzjunkie]

The More Loving One

Masterlist

Summary: Professor Reid finds himself falling for a student. 

A/N: This fic is based on this request. I changed a few things up, but I hope you like the finished product!

Long time, no see! It seems like forever since I got to sit down and just enjoy writing something. And enjoy this, I did. I approached this one a bit differently than I usually do, but I like how it turned out none the less. I hope you all enjoy my take on the Professor Reid arc. The first poem I use in this fic is titled The More Loving One by W.H. Auden, and the second is from a collection of Perry poetry.

Also, I recently hit 2k followers, which is absolutely unbelievable. I can’t even begin to explain how thankful I am for each and every one of you. This fic is my love letter to you. Thank you all so much. 

Pairing: Professor!Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Content Warnings: a few swear words maybe?, teacher x student relationship, age gap, exhibitionism (sorta?), vaginal fingering, unprotected sex

Word Count: 4k

           For as long as Spencer can remember, he’s always had a predilection for the finer things in life.

           Spencer attributes the origin of his preferences to his upbringing. In his childhood, before his mother’s disease got the better of her, she exposed him to all sorts of literature. While he ventured to read all types of writings, he’d always been partial to tales of extravagance. A young Spencer Reid sought refuge in the profligacy of it all, as it was so starkly different from his own reality. Forced to bear the burden of household and a sick mother from an early age, Spencer’s own life left little room for reckless indulgence.

           Now, as a single adult male, Spencer makes it a point to give himself up to the finer things as often as he can. Spencer isn’t a rich man, nor is he careless with what hard-earned money he does have. He simply likes to treat himself to the occasional five-star meal, and even more frequently, posh clothing and rare books. Walls lined with hundreds of antiquarian novels and a closet full of Comme Des Garçon cardigans are where the indulgence ends, however, and until recently Spencer was content with this.

           But when she strolls into his life on the very first day of his teaching career, Spencer knows that his small luxuries will no longer be enough to keep him satisfied. The part of him that longs to have only the very best roars to life as he takes in every perfect inch of her. She stands before him, the embodiment of divinity and grace, looking like every fantasy he only dares to conjure up in the late hours of the night. A litany of cliches from every piece of romantic literature he’s ever read spring to the forefront of his mind in the instant that her eyes met his, but there is nothing stereotypical about the way her gaze banishes the air from his lungs. It is as jarring as it is intoxicating. He never wants to look away.

           Unfortunately, she doesn’t feel the same. With a light flush of her cheeks, she turns away from him, and in an equally unfortunate turn of events, she proceeds to shuffle down the aisle and into the second row of seats to the right of the podium. The realization that washes over him feels like ice water in his veins.

           She’s a student. Worse even – she’s his student.

           Spencer wrenches his gaze from her as if he’s been burned, and the fiery shame of his embarrassment makes him tug at his collar. As he struggles to stave away the lingering heat in his chest and even more embarrassingly, the tightness in his trousers, Spencer chastises himself. His own carnal urges often go ignored, a fact that is glaringly obvious as he cowers behind his podium in an attempt to hide his arousal. He feels more than a little bit pathetic. No self-respecting thirty-five-year-old man gets hard just from gazing upon a beautiful young woman.

           When Spencer pulls himself together enough to start his lecture, he positively forbids himself to look her way. It is hard to fight the urge, but every time he catches his eyes wandering to her, he reminds himself that she is an indulgence he simply cannot partake in. No matter how badly he wants to.

--

           It doesn’t take long for her to notice him noticing her.

           In the early days of the semester, she manages to convince herself that the stolen glances are but a figment of her overactive imagination. That, or an unhealthy dose of wishful thinking. But as the semester stretches on and the professor’s eyes linger more and more, wishful thinking gives way to a startling realization that she isn’t alone in her attraction. Professor Reid is, to her complete and utter astonishment, just as taken with her as she is with him.

           This is all but confirmed when a slight brushing of the hands during an exchange of papers leaves them both with flushed cheeks and pounding hearts. Both of their heads snap up, two sets of eyes meeting in a prolonged stare that results in an understanding of sorts. It’s mutual, this thing blossoming between them. She can see her own hopes reflected in two velvet pools of brown – can see the longing, the desire that burns within them. Her heart soars, as she imagines his does, and she accepts the papers with a smile.

           She also imagines that, if he could, he would tell her to wait for him. He would tell her that, for now, their relationship must stay strictly professional.

           This doesn’t stop them from sating their cravings in other ways.

           She makes it a point to stop by during office hours at least twice a week. Her visits always fall under the guise of her studies, but within minutes their hushed conversations stray from the professional and towards a more personal nature. She learns of Spencer’s mother and her condition, of his unusual job and his coworkers that were more like family. In return, she tells him about her upbringing in southern California, as well as her dreams of becoming a criminal psychologist. They never go as far as to discuss what will happen when the semester comes to a close. It is an unspoken agreement that the end of the semester will find them in each other’s arms. All they have to do is wait.

           Spencer can’t voice his affections with words, but he more than makes up for this with his actions. Without fail, every Monday following the very first clandestine brushing of hands, lavish bouquets of flowers arrive at her workplace. Each bouquet is always paired with a notecard inscribed with a brief explanation of the meaning behind that week’s flower of choice. Cherry blossoms to pay homage to her beauty, plumeria to symbolize their new beginning, agrimony to convey his thankfulness that she is willing to wait for him.

           Her favorite bouquet arrives four weeks before the end of the semester. As she steps through the doors of the bakery, a vase full of nine red roses sits atop the counter. The sight of them nearly takes her breath away. She pauses for a moment and runs her fingertips across the velveteen petals before plucking the notecard from its place.

           This week, Spencer chooses to forgo the explanation in favor of a messily scrawled poem;

Looking up at the stars, I know quite well

that, for all they care, I can go to hell,

But on earth indifference is the least

we have to dread from man or beast.

How should we like it were stars to burn 

with a passion for us we could not return?

If equal affection cannot be,

let the more loving one be me. 

           That evening, Spencer receives his first bouquet from her. On his desk sits an arrangement of pale pink ambrosia.

           The meaning isn’t lost on him, but if it were, the note that sits next to the vase makes her intentions clear.

We never had to force love.

We were drowning in it from the moment we met.

--

           Spencer is horribly frustrated.

           A mere twenty feet away from where he stands, the notoriously garish and wholly unprofessional PhD program director is gesticulating wildly to the young woman that stands trapped between him and the hors d’oeuvre table. To find Professor Van Wesep in such a position is not uncommon, due to his penchant for trying to charm (terrorize) the prospective female doctoral candidates. The man is practically a walking harassment complaint waiting to happen. Spencer would abhor Van Wesep even if he weren’t the only thing standing in the way of him and his lover.

           At long last, the semester has drawn to a close. The lonely nights spent longing to hold her in his arms are a thing of the past. By the time the sun rises again, Spencer will no longer have to wonder what her body will feel like pressed against his. He’ll be thoroughly acquainted with every inch of her, and she with him. The thought sends a thrilled chill down his spine.

           The torturous foreplay they’ve been engaging in for the last four months would have surely broken a lesser man. Spencer would be lying if he said he wasn’t tempted on more than one occasion to have her during one of her frequent visits to his office. Some days, when her visits came later in the evenings, just as the sun began to dip low in the sky, her eyes would glisten in such a way that told Spencer her thoughts were none dissimilar to his own. That glimmer of lust had him holding on to his restraint by the skin of his teeth.

           And here they were, on the last evening of the semester. Final grades had been submitted and were released hours prior. Spencer would have been content to skip this event altogether, in favor of more… recreational activities, but his lover insisted on attending.

           Initially, Spencer assumed her insistence lay in her desire to mingle with her future peers and mentors. Her true intentions come to light when she breezes into the room clad in a pair of sleek, designer pumps. Her lips, painted fire engine red, curl up into a playful smile at the sight of a slack-jawed Spencer Reid. The devious glint in her eye twinkles sinfully in the light.

           Tonight isn’t a social call at all. Tonight, she wants to play with him.

           And play she has.

           From the second she arrives all eyes are fixating on her celestial beauty. Peers and mentors alike trip over themselves in their haste to capture her attention, if only for a fleeting moment. She works the room flawlessly, leaving a trail of smitten men of all ages in her wake.

           The most smitten is Spencer himself, because he’s the lone recipient of countless heated glances, as well as more than a few knowing smirks. She well aware of what she’s doing to him, and she takes pleasure in watching him squirm.

          Spencer intervenes when Van Wesep makes the ill-advised decision to reach a hand up to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear. He barely has the time to withdraw his hand before Spencer is upon them.

          “I apologize for the interruption,” Spencer casts a faux apologetic glance at his colleague, before settling his gaze on his target. “Ms. Y/L/N, may I speak to you for a moment?”

           She looks positively gleeful. Perhaps Spencer should have intervened hours ago.

           “Absolutely, Professor Reid.”

           The honorific sends a jolt of heat straight to his groin. He definitely should have stolen her away earlier.

           The two of them say their goodbyes to a confused Professor Van Wesep, whose imploring eyes follow them as they hurriedly slip from the party and down the hallway.

--

           “Where are we going?”

           Spencer leads her down a long corridor, far beyond earshot of the other guests. Pushing her into a dark corner, he positions her between himself and the cold wooden door of an unoccupied office. The only sounds that can be heard are the distant thrum of the music and the eager pants falling from his lover’s lips.

           Spencer pulls her into a searing kiss, one hand tangling in her hair and the other finding purchase on her waist. He worries for a moment that he’s being too rough with her, that he should have taken a more careful approach to their first kiss, but she assuages those worries when she kisses him back with equal enthusiasm. Her hand reaches between them and clutches his tie, then she’s pulling him closer and whining wantonly against his lips. Spencer takes this as an invitation to slip his tongue inside and he finds himself letting out a low groan when he tastes a hint of strawberry.

           Spencer pulls away to catch his breath. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

           “Oh, I think I do, Professor,” she laughs, breathless. “Probably just as long as I’ve wanted to do this.”

           Spencer jolts forward when her hand slides down to cup him over his trousers.

           “Could’ve done that a lot earlier if you hadn’t insisted on teasing me for the entire night,” Spencer growls through gritted teeth. He’s more than a little proud of his ability to string together a sentence with her hand working him over with slow, steady strokes.

           He trails a line of kisses across the underside of her jaw, before taking her earlobe and nipping it lightly with his canine. Spencer’s actions are rewarded with a full body shudder. He dips his tongue in the hollow at the base of her throat and her hands ball into fists against his dress shirt.

           “Spencer, please.”

           Spencer hums and pulls back to look at her. The hand in her hair lowers, and he trails a thumb across where her nipples are hard against the fabric of her dress.

           “Yes, my love?”

           Her eyes flutter against the weight of her arousal, and Spencer twitches in his pants. The sight of her with her hair disheveled and her lipstick smeared on account of him is a heavenly thing. He doesn’t know how he ever deprived himself of such a splendor.

           “I want you. Right now.” She punctuates her words by pulling him down into a frenzied kiss. One of her hands tangles itself in the hair at the nape of his neck while the other busies with tugging his shirt out of his pants.

           “Right now?” Spencer taunts, mouth against mouth. His hand trails down the side of her breast, caressing her rib cage and her hip before stopping at her upper thigh. Spencer’s fingertips toy with the tops of her lace thigh highs. “But anyone could walk by and see us.”

           “I don’t care,” she argues, fumbling clumsily as she struggles to undo his belt buckle.

           Spencer’s wandering hand dips below the hem of her dress to explore the silky-smooth skin of her inner thigh. She’s soft here, too, he thinks to himself as his hand travels up, up, up. He stops just short of where she wants him most and she lets out a despairing cry.

           “You wouldn’t mind someone walking by and seeing you with your pretty legs spread wide for your professor?”

           Spencer brings life to his words by lifting her leg up, hitching her thigh around his hip and pressing into her. The silk fabric of her dress rustles as he pushes it up and out of the way.

           A breathy moan tumbles from her lips as he rocks against her, dragging his arousal up and down the front of her lace panties. The friction is maddening in that it provides only the smallest bit of relief. It’s not enough for Spencer, and judging by the way she desperately pushes down the fabric of his pants, it’s not enough for his partner, either.

           “Need to get these off now,” she murmurs against Spencer’s mouth. An eager hand tugs at the elastic band of his underwear.

           Spencer places his hand on hers, stilling her movements. “Not so fast, baby. Gotta make sure you’re ready for me first.”

           Her fingers clamp down on Spencer’s wrist, guiding him to the sodden lace between her thighs.

           “Don’t think that’s gonna be a problem,” she whimpers as Spencer’s fingers take appraisal of the drenched cloth. “In fact, I think four months of foreplay is sufficient enough. Wouldn’t you say?”

           “Maybe so,” Spencer muses, voice muffled as he sucks at the skin of her neck. “But I’m not willing to chance hurting you our first time together. You’re entirely too precious to me.”

           Spencer captures her lips in a kiss so sweet it has her sighing into his mouth. When he pulls away, he fixes her with a smile.

           “You’re not particularly fond of these panties, are you?”

           Her eyebrows pull together. “No, why?”

           Spencer pulls at the flimsy fabric harshly and it gives way under the force of it. He reaches back to stuff the thong in his back pocket.

           “That’s why.”

           Spencer’s lips come down against hers at the same time his middle and index fingers drag across her slickness. His foresight pays off when his mouth muffles the sound of her cries. As confident he is that they won’t be found, a cry like that would certainly have drawn unwanted attention.

           The swipe of his thumb across her crest paired with the gentle pressure of his fingers dipping into her heat is enough to make her legs buckle. Had it not been for Spencer pressing her against the wall, she surely would have fallen to the ground in a trembling heap.

           “I could get lost in you for hours,” Spencer groans, curling his fingers inside her in such a way that makes her clutch desperately to his shirt.

           “Spencer, oh my God,” she keens. “I need you, please.”

           “You have me, my love,” Spencer whispers the promise against her parted lips. “You’ve had me since the first moment I laid eyes on you.”

           Spencer speeds up the onslaught of his fingers until the telltale tightening of her heat warns him of her impending climax. He has to bite down on his lower lip to regain his own composure. The feeling of her tight and wet around his fingers is almost too good.

           “Spencer, I’m getting close,” she whimpers.

           Spencer continues until she’s on the cusp of tumbling over the edge, until one more pass of his fingers against her crest would surely seal the deal, and then he’s removing his hand and taking a step back.

           “Spencer, what the fu-,” she pauses when he promptly shoves his pants and underwear just enough to free himself from their painful confines. “Oh.”

           A dazed smile makes its way to her face as Spencer presses himself against her once more. He sweeps her up into a kiss comprised of pure, unadulterated desire, before pulling away and smirking deviously at her.

           “Jump.”

           It takes a moment for her pleasure fogged brain to make sense of the request, but as soon as it does, she complies without question.

           Spencer’s hands grip her thighs firmly and in one swift thrust he sheaths himself into her fully – an indulgence so grand that all others dull in comparison. Now that he’s had the finest, felt it wrapped around him like warm velvet, he can’t imagine a world in which he must live without it.

           “Spencer!”

           Spencer swears he’s never heard a sweeter sound than her crying out his name as their bodies come together for the first time. It’s synonymous with a siren call, he thinks, because in that moment she could lure him to certain death and he knows he would go with a smile.

           His lips seek purchase on the exposed skin of her chest as he buries himself in her paradise again and again. The sharp sting of her heels digging into his back with every thrust brings out a sort of primal urge in him, spurring him to rut up into her like a man possessed.

           “You feel perfect,” Spencer groans out against the flushed skin of her neck. He presses a soft kiss to where her pulse bounds just beneath the skin before pulling away and locking eyes with her. “When I’m old and gray and can remember nothing else, I’ll remember this. I’ll remember how it felt to kiss you for the first time – how it felt to touch you. How it felt to worship you and make love to your body.”

           Spencer’s voices catches, thick and overwhelmed with emotion.

           “I’ll remember how it feels to love you.”

           Her breath catches in her throat and sharp pang of panic burns hot in his chest. Had he misinterpreted her affections? Did she not burn for him in the same way? Perhaps the ambrosia meant nothing. Spencer’s movements falter, and for several torturous seconds he’s nearly paralyzed with fear.

            She silences those fears with a kiss.

           “Oh, Spencer,” she sighs as she presses her forehead against his. “I love you, too. More than you could ever comprehend.”

           Spencer resumes moving in and out of her, but the frenzied feeling from before is replaced with something else now. Something softer, but no less passionate.

           “Yeah?” he inquires, searching her eyes for any trace of insincerity. He finds none, and it’s a relief. Any hint of falseness in her claim would surely lead to a heartbreak he could never recover from.

           “Yes.” The word trails off into a moan. “I love you, Spencer Reid. I don’t imagine I’ll ever stop.”

           Spencer’s heart jolts and he whines pathetically against her mouth. “I’m counting on that.”

           “I’m close, Spencer,” she pants, her breath hitting his face in warm puffs. “Don’t think I can last much longer.”

           “Me, too.” Spencer nudges her nose with his own. “Reach between us and touch yourself, my love. I want us to cum together. Can you do that for me?”

           She nods, and the hand that clung to his right shoulder dips in between them to rub tight circles against her crest. Spencer doubles his efforts when he sees her eyelids flutter closed, and the resulting tightening of her core leaves him panting hard.

           “Spencer, I-” her breath catches in her throat as Spencer delivers a particularly strong thrust. Her head falls against his shoulder, her soft moans of his name like heaven to his ears.

           “Cum with me, baby,” Spencer grunts out desperately. He needs it like he needs air to breath and water to drink. And once he has it, he knows he’ll need it again and again.

           She gives it to him with a muffled cry of his name and he’s instantly swept away, drowning in the blissful way her body sings for him. His body follows her lead, shattering completely under her fingertips.

           While he’s been through similar acts with previous partners, those instances always felt impersonal and clinical. The caresses and whispered words were all a means to an end, an end that usually left him feeling lonelier and emptier than when he started. But right now, as he feels the beat of her heart pressed against his own, he swears he couldn’t feel fuller - full of adoration, full of affection, full of love. It’s beautiful and overwhelming and everything Spencer didn’t know he was looking for.

           A raucous round of applause erupts from the direction of the party, startling the two of them. Spencer feels her laugh against his neck.

           “It’s almost as if they were applauding us for a job well done.”

           Spencer presses a chaste kiss to the crown of her head.

           “As they should. That was sensational.”

           Spencer carefully pulls out and lowers her to the floor. He wastes no time in tilting her chin up and capturing her lips in a reverent kiss. Spencer hopes his lips convey his gratitude.

           The two of them pull apart and set to making themselves presentable. Their efforts prove to be in vain when Spencer points out a dark purple love bite nestled into the crook of her neck. She counters this by taking note of the smudge of red lipstick on his collar.

           “What an adulterous pair we make, Professor.”

           Spencer rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “I’m not your professor anymore.” He bends down and places a kiss to her lips before taking her hand in his.

           “I suppose you’re not,” she muses as they meander down the corridor. “Whatever shall we do now?”

           As the two of them step out of the dark hallway and reenter the party, Spencer smiles to himself. Visions of wedding rings flit through his mind. Spencer supposes he’ll have to take a break from the posh clothing and rare books in favor of saving his money. He’ll buy only the finest ring for his future wife, after all.

           “I have a few ideas.”

-

-

-

-

-

taglist: @90spumkin @moon-light-jukebox​ @whxt-to-write @calm-and-doctor @jessalyn-jpeg @pinkdiamond1016 @itsametaphorbriansblog @eldahae @itsmytimetoodream @kasaikawa @shadyladyperfection

[illusionsofdreaming]

How about a Cale proposing/asking out Reader for marriage/date?? I love your fics and this is just a thought that I often imagine (It's usually people asking him out but this might be a nice change!? I think...)

Ft: Cale

Tap tap tap tap tap-

It was the soothing rhythmic sound of not getting anything done. Concentration having long since fled the premises as he stared blankly at the notes on the table, watched as the blue nib danced up and down and up and down again.

The notes were important he supposed but his heart wasn’t into it, mind occupied and consistently distracted by a particular receipt on his table.

It’s been several days and he has yet to hear a reply.

He’s not quite sure what to make of it. Certain social rules of this world clashed with his modern-day knowledge of social cues. One would think he’d have an advantage as one who transmigrated into a novel he’d read, but The Birth of a Hero never properly introduced the social decorum of the world in detail. 

Perhaps the only reason he made it thus far with his half baked knowledge of etiquette was thanks to Cale’s trashy reputation which, ironically enough, made people more accepting of his faux pas. Alas, if it weren’t for Hans’ persistent nagging that he should handle this important matter ‘the proper way’, he really wouldn’t have bothered. Now he’s stuck between a rock and a hard place. Would it mean anything if he were to send a follow up letter? Or perhaps he should go there himself-

A knock on his door distracted him from his thoughts and he glanced up to see the origin of his headaches, Hans, peek in. 

“Young master, you have guests from the _________ household and-“

Cale was out the doors before Hans finished.

⚛》》》》》◆《《《《《⚛

Despite having your back to him it was almost embarrassing how quickly he was able to pick you out amidst the crowd of people.

“__________.” He greeted, snow crunching beneath his boots as he neared your side, he hoped his breathing wasn’t too quick as he’d rushed over as soon as he’d learn of your visit. The burning question rested on the tip of his tongue, the cure-all to his worries as he reached for your hand. “I have been wait-“

“Cale! Just the person I wanted to see!” You turned, smile brightening your features as you pulled him closer, close enough that he could see how the cold had already kissed your cheeks pink. 

“Did you receive-“

“Yes, that’s why I’m here!” 

A flutter of nerves was set alight in his chest that made him weirdly jittery. How unusual. He’d always been so assured of the results of his plans (and he’s confident in his prediction of your response) yet he couldn’t help but feel flustered. He understood nothing of this world’s customs and Hans did mention a response would’ve usually been sent by letter. Does you coming here in person symbolise something he’s not getting again?

Something was pressed into his hand and his heartrate spiked uncomfortably as he glanced down to receive the scroll you passed to him.

He hesitated, frowning at the brown parchment. Noting the ugly frayed edges and wondering, why couldn’t you have just told him what’s written within since you’ve travelled all the way here anyways.

“Take a look.” you urged him and he sighed.

“Can’t you-“ his words faltered off abruptly as he unfurled the paper to reveal a mess of lines and sketches, his mind blanked as he stared uncomprehending at the contents. “W.. what is this..”

“Isn’t it exciting?” you glanced at the paper, delight and unadulterated joy shone through your eyes. “The designs for the waterways are finally complete! We can finally move onto the next phase, I’ve even gathered the others to discuss this! It shouldn’t take long, we just need to iron out the logistics and-“

He’d tuned out as he stared at prototype on the page, his mind struggled sluggishly to make sense of what’s happening. Cale’s expression remained carefully blank as he lifted his head up to look at you and finally noticed the circle of vassals awkwardly standing around them. 

Huh? 

⚛》》》》》◆《《《《《⚛

“..implementation of the new waterways will greatly improve the situation in the slums and if we...” 

If looks could set things on fire, the conference table would’ve long turned to ashes with how hard Cale’s been glaring. He had rested his two elbows on the oak table, fingers weaved together to create a net that supported his chin. To others, the firstborn son of the Henituse household may seemed to be in a contemplative mood, in truth, Cale had zoned out since the very beginning.

Perhaps there’s been a mistake. Maybe you did not receive it or perhaps he’d missed another social cue. Did he unknowingly commit another taboo?

“…Cale?”

He shouldn’t have listened to Hans’ ridiculous suggestions when he knew he had no patience for the roundabout and overly complex ways people liked to handle things here. He ran a tired hand past his face. Right, next thing he’s going to change in this world would be the removal of all redundant and confusing social constructs. First, he’ll start with the books on courtroom etiquette-

“Cale.”

A hand landing on his shoulder jolted him from his thoughts and he looked up to meet your frustrated gaze. He gaped, caught off guard by your ire.

Your long sigh pricked at his conscience but you interrupted him before he could explain himself. “I sent the others out for a break.” You sat on the edge of the table facing him, although clearly annoyed, there was concern in the slight dip of your brows.

“You’ve been distracted the entire meeting Cale.” 

He rubbed the back of his neck, pressing against the tension building there. “Sorry.” He admitted softly. 

“Is something on your mind?”

You. 

“It’s nothing.” To admit that his thoughts were in shambles all because of an unanswered letter would’ve been far too pathetic. Gods, when have he fallen so low. “I need a drink.” he decided abruptly and would’ve gotten up and escaped, but you knew him too well. With a subtle shift of your weight that looked all too natural, you leaned forward and your two hands rested against his armrests to support yourself in a comfortable lean, effortlessly and efficiently caging him in. 

“Cale.” Your tone broke no argument. It was clear he was not going anywhere until he cleared this matter up.

He sighed, slumping against the chair in defeat as he dragged his gaze slowly upwards with the reluctance of a child who’d just been caught with their hands in the cookie jar and was now forced to admit their wrongdoings. He hesitated when he caught a glimmer of something on your shirt. 

Somewhere along the meeting, as the room got warmer you must’ve taken off your thinner overcoat, it would’ve explained why he hadn’t noticed such an obvious accessory from the beginning. But now that he had laid eyes on it, Cale can’t seem to look away. His hand reached out cautiously, brushing over delicate work, the building tension within him eased away as he reminiscences at the nostalgic sight. 

It had only been several weeks ago when he’d went out to find the best jeweller in the Kingdom to have a specific brooch made. A bright golden shield with the Henituse’s family mascot emblazoned on, two magnificent rubies inlaid as eyes. 

With the solid feeling of the brooch under his fingers, his previous worries melted off like sleet to be replaced with an indescribable warmth in his chest.

“It suits you.” he finally says. It really does. 

Cale never liked things made in his honor, but something about you wearing his symbol made him feel a lot of things. 

Your rumble of laughter made him look up and you brushed a hand through his locks, amusement in your eyes. “Is that it? That’s what’s been bothering you all morning?” you mused.

He snorted and slumped forward, resting his face on your lap. “You wouldn’t reject it.”

“Confident, aren’t we?” you laughed and carded your fingers through his hair.

It was the truth which you both knew. He had never been a stickler for rules. The relationship between you happened as a gradual process, you two clicked and it just eased into your daily routine and became the norm. There was never any need or desire to announce it officially. But as someone who transmigrated into this world, who also decided to continue living in it, he wanted to do it your way. Because in the end, even if it was bothersome, annoying and baffled his 21st century mind, the gesture would mean something to you.

Now that he’s solved the mystery, satisfied he didn’t botch up some weird etiquette, he had time to analyse the day’s events and realised one thing. He lifted his head from your lap, “You orchestrated this. The waterways weren’t that urgent.” he deadpanned, stuck between feeling awe that you took all the effort to tease him and indignation that you’d dare.

“It’s not often one gets the chance to fluster you.” you admitted, not at all feeling guilty when you got the chance to witness his bewilderment first hand.

“Aigoo..” he clicked his tongue and in one swift movement, stood from his seat, forcing you to lean back as his arms landed by your sides, effectively reversing your positions. “You’d bother the vassals for this, how bold.”

You blinked innocently up at him. “I bothered no one actually, they all volunteered to help.”

He frowned. Traitors. The whole lot of them. He could actually hear them cheering outside the room. He’s going to have to tell Basen to talk to them about their loyalties soon. Well. Not that it would matter much. He glanced down at the gleaming brooch on your chest and his lips twitched into a satisfied smile despite himself. 

Perhaps there’s a reason behind such silly traditions after all.

Notes: So I combined these two asks because they’re pretty similar and to answer your questions: I believe Cale’s not one for grand gestures and formal things but he’ll occasionally abide by certain traditions if it has special meanings and especially if it’d mean something to you. 

[forzalando]

Flustered | Fred Weasley

Pairing: Fred Weasley x F!Reader Word Count: 2.5k Warnings: mentions of underage drinking and alcohol, tickling, making out Summary: Your flirty friendship with Fred Weasley comes to a resolution after an argument surrounding the Yule Ball that took place all those years ago. 

A/N: hi friends! this is a Fred Weasley fic based on a tik tok i saw last night (all credit for the bolded line goes to the creator of the tik tok). also thank you to @gcdric for discussing this with me very late last night, i hope it turned out well omg i’m NERVOUS. anyway! off we go. please let me know if you’d like to be added to my taglist! i’m updating it since i was on hiatus for awhile! love you guys!

As you sat on the couch of the Burrow, your eyes fixated on the many pictures in the Weasley’s living room, your mind began to drift off with thoughts of the freckled, red-headed boy sat in front of you giggling with his siblings.

There was something extraordinarily special about your friendship with Fred Weasley. After ten plus years of him being the most important person in your life, ever since your first day at Hogwarts when he tripped over your robes as you and your fellow first years hurried into the Sorting Ceremony, you couldn’t imagine life without him.

You had been through so much together; every Hogwarts experience there was to be had, first kisses, first heartbreaks, the Second Great Wizarding War, he was by your side through everything.

“What’s on your mind, Y/N? You look to be thinking entirely too hard for my liking,” Fred sassed, breaking you out of your trance.

“Too hard for your liking?” you retaliated. “What do you care what I’m thinking about?”

“It’s supposed to be a relaxing weekend! You’re much too deep in thought to be relaxing, so of course I care.”

“Well, if you must know, I was thinking about you, Freddie.”

“Carry on then, love. I’ve always wished for your thoughts to be consumed by me.”

With a cheeky wink, Fred went back to a game of exploding snap and you didn’t need to watch to know that Ginny was absolutely kicking his arse. However, you didn’t miss the sly smile that George gave you when Fred’s attention was diverted from you.

It wasn’t uncommon for the two of you to flirt with one another. In fact, you would dare to say it was the most predominant form of communication between the two of you. There was the occasional time or two where you thought that maybe, just maybe, he felt the same, but he’d always look away quickly or press a kiss to your cheeks instead of your lips, laughing it off as the two of you caught up in a moment that would cross a line that could never be crossed, though you so desperately wanted to.

After another round of exploding snap, Ginny said her goodbyes and apparated back to her flat, but not before promising that she wouldn’t miss anymore family dinners for quidditch practice, which you knew would happen inevitably but smiled nonetheless at her enthusiasm. You’d been a regular appearance at the weekly get-together for as long as you could remember, you were practically part of the family so you could say with appropriate accuracy that Ginny definitely missed dinner more than all of her siblings combined due to her busy schedule.

“Well, I suppose it’s time for us to head back as well,” George mused, eyeing the leftover pies in the kitchen. “Are you staying at ours tonight, Y/N?”

“I’d love nothing more. Besides, I didn’t get to play Fred in exploding snap and I want to knock his ego down just a little bit more.”

George linked arms with you and Fred, laughing about his brother’s awful skills as you apparated to their flat above the shop.

You’d spent many a nights at the twins’ flat over the past couple of years. After the war, you had moved in for a while until you found a job and managed to rent your own place. But, they never got rid of your bed that took up a large corner of their living room, which came in handy after weekly Weasley dinners when you just wanted to spend a bit more time with your favorite boys.

“I’m absolutely knackered,” George said once the three of you had settled on the couch. “I think I might go to bed now, if I’m honest. Besides, I want to be up early to work on those new design sketches for the storefront.”

“George Weasley, you have never gotten up before 10 o’clock on a Sunday in your entire life,” you scoffed.

“There’s a first for everything, Y/N. Goodnight to you and Freddie!”

As George turned away from you both, he faked a yawn and when he was sure Fred wasn’t looking, winked back at you to further confirm your suspicion that he wanted you to be alone with Fred.

He had just about had enough of the tension between you both and took every chance he got to get the two of you alone, by any means necessary.

When you heard George’s bedroom door close, you noticed Fred scoot closer to you on the couch until your legs were touching. He slung his arm over your shoulders and you swung your legs up to lay across his lap.

“What were you thinking about earlier? While Gin and I were playing by the fireplace?” Fred wondered aloud.

“Oh, I was looking at all the pictures on the walls at your Mum and Dad’s. I saw one from you and George’s first day at Hogwarts and I was thinking about how we first met.”

“Hmm, so you were thinking about one of the most embarrassing moments in my life?”

“Please, you’ve done much, much worse. Remember that time in our sixth year when you tried to outdrink George after we won the Slytherin match and you – ”

“Ah, ah, ah, I thought we agreed to never speak of that incident again,” Fred said as he visibly shuddered.

“I was just pointing out that I can think of quite a few moments that were far more embarrassing than tripping on my robes.”

“You’re one to talk! Don’t you remember our fifth year when you and George were running from Filch and you knocked Wood to the ground? Bloody broke his arm, you were so lucky Madame Pomfrey had him fixed up before our next match or he would’ve had a heart attack.”

A loud laugh escaped your lips as you covered your face in embarrassment; that was the year you had followed Oliver around like a lost puppy, although your schoolgirl crush paled in comparison to how you’d felt for Fred back then and now as well but neither twin would ever let you live it down.

“Do you remember the Yule Ball? When Flitwick caught you trying to spike the punch and you slipped and fell in the middle of the dance floor?” You chuckled at the memory, even if the Yule Ball was an event you had tried to forget.

“You were so mad at me that night and the whole week before, I was terribly distracted. If we had been on good terms I would’ve gotten away with it and the slipping never would have happened.”

“Well, it’s your own fault we were fighting! I still can’t believe you didn’t ask me to go with you.”

“Oi, it’s not my fault when you never said you wanted me to ask you.”

“I thought I had made it painfully obvious when I asked you every morning at breakfast if you’d found a date yet and told you that I didn’t have one either.”

Fred threw his head back and laughed, the thought of your shocked face when he had asked Angelina was too priceless a memory to ever forget.

“You were so jealous,” Fred mumbled.

“Jealous?!” you screeched. “I wasn’t jealous, I was annoyed that I had to spend all night with some Durmstrang tosser stepping on my toes. We’ve had this argument literally a million times.”

“No, you were definitely jealous. You shot poor Angie daggers the whole night and she’s such a lovely girl.”

“I shot her daggers because she hogged you and I didn’t get to dance with my best friend a single time at the only Ball we ever had at school.”

“I would’ve asked you to dance if you weren’t mad at me, and you know she was only dancing with me to make George jealous, even if he was oblivious.”

You smiled at that; you knew Angelina only had eyes for George and that going with Fred was some elaborate ruse. Shockingly, it ended up working, and he and Angelina have been together ever since.

“Still think you were jealous,” Fred challenged, poking you in the exact spot on your abdomen that he knew you were ticklish.

“Fred Weasley, for the last time, I was not jealous,” you emphasized as you poked him back.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish, love,” he said lowly, a daring glint in his eye.

Never one to heed warnings or follow directions, you poked him again and within seconds he had you pinned underneath him on the couch, his fingers trailing up and down your sides as you couldn’t help but laugh boisterously beneath him.

“Fred – ” you gasped. “Freddie, please, I actually think I might pee on your couch.”

“Not until you admit you were jealous that I asked Angelina!”

You shook your head, the combination of laughter and trying to catch your breath kept you from firing back a witty remark.

After a few moments, you simply couldn’t take anymore and shouted out, “FINE. Fine, you win.”

“What was that, lovey? I couldn’t quite hear you.”

“I said, fine, I admit it. I was jealous that you asked Angelina when I wanted you to ask me,” you grumbled, struggling to catch your breath in between words.

“See, now that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

You glared up at him and moved to push him off of you when you realized just how close his face was to yours. If you concentrated hard enough, you could count each individual freckle splattered across his nose and cheeks. Almost instinctually, your eyes flickered down to his lips, but you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of staring, so you quickly looked away.

Fred noticed that you couldn’t take your eyes off of him and, in true Fred Weasley fashion, couldn’t resist a flirty joke.

“You really want to kiss me right now, don’t you?” Fred chuckled.

“Yeah,” you sighed, “yeah, I do.”

Surging forward, you pressed your lips to his and immediately wove your fingers through the hair at the base of his neck. You were so tired; tired of the constant flirting and feeling as if you would forever have to love him from afar while he lived his life blissfully unaware of how much it hurt you to hide how you felt.

His arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you closer to him; the raw emotion in the way he desperately kissed you left little doubt in your mind that he had wanted this for as long as you had. His hands slipped under your shirt and his fingers blazed a trail of fire up your spine; a breathy moan escaped your lips but Fred swallowed the sound with his mouth, deepening the kiss and pulling you even closer.

A scream from behind the couch caused you to jump apart, chests heaving and hair sticking up every possible way. You sat up to look over the back of the couch to see George Weasley, looking visibly shaken and guilty, with his hands covering his eyes.

“Oh my god, I leave you alone for thirty minutes and you’re about to shag on my bloody couch. Jesus, ok, let me just, uh, well, I’ve probably ruined the mood, haven’t I?”

“George,” you hissed. “What are you doing sneaking around, I thought you were going to bed?!”

“Yeah, I said I was,” he said sheepishly as he uncovered his eyes, “but I might have been eavesdropping on your conversation. When I heard it go all quiet, I thought I’d come out and see if you two fools had fallen asleep, but clearly, that was not the case.”

“Eavesdropping? I swear to Merlin, George, you’re a ten year old boy. I can’t believe you! Of all the immature and invasive things to do, my God.”

“Well, pardon me, I just wanted to see if my idiot brother would finally grow some balls and tell you he’s in love with you!”

“I’m not sure what you’re on about but that doesn’t mean you can just sneak up on people,” you chided.  “Fred, would you please back me up here, what is wrong with you – ”

You turned around to pull Fred into the argument only to find him sitting on top of the coffee table with a dazed look in his eyes and flushed cheeks.

“Fred, are you alright?” you asked worriedly.

He slowly lifted his head and looked into your eyes; you could see just how flushed his face was now that he wasn’t staring at the floor and good Godric, he was as red as the hair on his head.

“I…I…You,” he stammered. “You kissed me?”

“Yes, I suppose that is what happened,” you muttered sheepishly.

“Y/N Y/L/N…you…you kissed me?”

“Freddie, what the hell is the matter with you?”

George burst into laughter and you whirled back around to glare at him, however, this time, he didn’t hush up like he usually did.

“Like I said before, he’s in love with you, and now he can’t even form a coherent sentence because you kissed him, this is golden. Ol’ cock sure Freddie, a pile of mush because of a little makeout sesh, I’ve got to send an owl to Lee…” George trailed off as he turned and rushed back towards his bedroom.

You took another look at Freddie and smiled at the lovestruck look on his face. He was shaking his head in his hands and you saw the redness on his neck as well, which only happened when he was well and truly flustered.

“This is so humiliating,” he groaned as you sat down next to him.

“I think it’s rather cute, if that makes you feel any better,” you said as you chuckled and placed a hand on his thigh.

He removed his head from his hands and looked at you adoringly, the giddy smile on his face ignited butterflies in your stomach and your heart beat wildly in your chest.  

“All the times I imagined how this would pan out…it definitely wasn’t supposed to happen this way. I mean, not that I’m mad about it, it was incredibly sexy how you just grabbed me and kissed me, but I wasn’t supposed to be a bumbling fool afterwards.”

A moment of silence washed over the both of you as Fred intertwined your hands and steadily held your gaze.

“George was right, you know. I am in love with you. Have been for quite a long time, if I’m being honest.”

“Well, in the spirit of honesty, I guess I should say that I’m in love with you too.”

“Bloody brilliant,” he sighed as he leaned in to kiss you again, but you stopped him just before your lips touched.

“You’re not going to pass out or anything if we kiss again, are you?”

“No promises, love, but I’ll try my best.”

taglist: @theweasleysredhair @hufflepuffbaby9 @theboywhocriedlupin @swellwriting @fortisfiliae @thoseofgreatambition @wildfire-whizbangs @woakiees 

[plus-size-reader]

Perfect Strangers

Bucky Barnes x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 1644 words

Warnings: I got carried away, just so you know. 

Summary: The reader and Bucky have a very strange relationship, and they always will

——————————————————————————————————

You and Bucky had never really gotten along.

When you were young, you fought more than anything else, with him sticking his foot in his mouth over and over and your quick temper driving your attitude.

Really, you were only good at fighting.

Even now, you two couldn’t be in the same room with one another unless you were yelling at him or making out. That was all you did, and as dysfunctional as it may have been, it worked for you.

You had never been the relationship type and James wasn’t any better. The last girlfriend he’d had was in the forties.

Casual hookups were all you had in you, and it had never been a problem before.

However, there was definitely something different in the way that he’d been acting as of late. There were no clever quips or quick insults as you passed, or anything else for that matter.

It was as if you were perfect strangers.

The only problem with that, of course, was that you weren’t. Perfect strangers never got the chance to taste the other’s tongue and you had Buck had done far more than that.

Something was definitely up, you just hadn’t figured out what it was yet.

You weren’t exactly in a hurry to figure it out either, to be perfectly honest. Bucky’s attitude problem wasn’t something you had to worry about, and it certainly wasn’t yours to fix.

Whatever it was, you thought for sure he’d figure it out and get over it.

...But maybe you were wrong.

He was pouty, and even more moody than usual. It just didn’t make any sense, though had you stopped to think about it, you could have easily put the pieces together.

You had recently started seeing someone else.

His name was Todd, some low level agent at S.H.I.E.L.D who’d asked you to get a drink a week or so back. It wasn’t serious, of course, meaning that you liked him in about the same way you liked anyone.

More than anything, he was good for drinks and sloppy makeouts in bar bathrooms but Bucky didn’t care about any of that.

He hated him.

If anyone got to take you for drinks or smear your lipstick all over the place, it was him. He’d known you longer than any of them, certainly longer than Todd, and it should have been him.

...But he couldn't exactly tell you any of that.

You and Bucky had always kept your relationship fun, without all the serious crap that no one wanted to deal with in the first place, and you liked it that way. You didn’t get too attached, but you had fun when you both had to let off a little steam.

It was the perfect arrangement.

For some reason though, seeing you on the arm of another man made his blood boil.

Bucky could have killed him, if he was in any position to do so. The other issue was that he wasn't in any position to make any changes.

You weren’t his girlfriend, and he didn’t want you to be, he just didn’t want anyone else to touch you or be near you or speak to you, ever.

Was that too much to ask?

Evidently, it was.

The dark haired male knew that no matter what he did, or what he said, nothing would change the way you felt about one another. The most frustrating thing was that he didn’t even understand why he felt like he did.

Bucky didn’t care about you, did he?

Up until recently, he’d been perfectly content with the way your relationship was going but not anymore. For some reason, everything was different now and he hated it.

He was restless, and nothing made it better. Everything reminded him of you and how he felt about you, which just made him more angry for feeling that way at all.

It wasn’t what he wanted, but it just was what it was. He couldn’t exactly change it, so he’d made up his mind. All he would do was sit back and pretend he didn’t feel it, eventually it was going to go away.

It had to.

~

His plan lasted all of about three days, before everything came crashing down again.

You had brought Todd with you to Stark tower last night, to ‘meet the team’ as you put it but Bucky knew better. He knew exactly what that meant and he wasn’t happy about it.

His jaw tightened as he looked over your frame, the soft smirk you wore and that spark in your eye.

What you’d done was beyond unprofessional but that wasn’t what had him so upset and he knew it. What Bucky couldn’t get over was the thought of that creep’s hands all over you, and the fact that it wasn’t him in your bed last night.

Though, the last straw came during breakfast, when Todd decided it would be a good idea to smack your ass on his way past, on his way to the bathroom.

It was a subtle thing, something no one else even paid any mind to, aside from a small smile from Natasha to Clint. For them, this was funny, but all Bucky could think about was where he’d put his body.

He couldn’t help it.

What he did next was what caused the real problem though. Instead of just moving on and being mad on his own time, Bucky marched over to your side and yanked you around the corner, into the next room.

At least here, there wouldn’t be quite as many prying eyes.

“What do you think you’re doing?” you spit, immediately snatching your arm back from his grip as you tried to figure out what had gotten into him. He was always like this, absolutely incapable of using his words.

In the past, you’d explained him akin to a neanderthal or some kind of caged animal.

Now though, Bucky didn’t seem to be in a joking mood, and he certainly wasn’t in the mood for your sass. You had to know how much this was upsetting him, and how much he hated it.

Even you couldn’t be so stupid.

“Get him out of here” he suggested, not even bothering to explain himself. There was such an arrogance about him, as he ordered you to do as he said, it actually forced a laugh from your throat.

Bucky had finally lost it.

“I don’t know what you mean” you smirked, resting your hands on your hips as you looked him in the eye, daring him to be more blatantly honest about what he wanted.

You were testing him, just like you always did, but it wasn’t going to work this time. Bucky was mad, and it would be best for everyone if you just told that punk to leave so you could get back to your breakfast.

...but you weren’t going to do that.

Bucky wasn’t your father, and he certainly wasn’t your boyfriend, he had no authority over who you spent time with, in or out of your bedroom.

“I’m not kidding, get him out of here” he repeated, his jaw tightening again in a warning sort of way. He wasn’t going to do anything to you, you knew that, but it was still fun to imagine.

Even if he tried, you’d have him on his ass in a minute, you both knew it.

“You are such an asshole, you know that?” you scoffed, another laugh playing in your throat as you looked at him, your brow furrowed. You couldn’t believe he was acting like this.

He was such a child.

“I’m an asshole? No kid, he’s the asshole, trust me” he spit, practically growling as he let out all his frustrations over the past few days, watching him lay his hands on you and whisper in your ear.

He had no right, and clearly, only Bucky had the common sense to recognize that.

That earned another laugh from you, this time much more dangerous before as you stepped closer to him. “That's what this is about? You don’t wanna share your toy, Buck?” you huffed, rolling your eyes.

You had always been very clear about what you wanted from him, and you were under the impression that he felt the same, but clearly not. You never got jealous, and really, it was pathetic that he was.

Especially over Todd.

You were having a good time with him, sure, but you could replace him in an hour, there was nothing special about him.

“Oh fuck off” he grumbled, running his metal hand through his dark hair, each wavy lock curling around his fingers as it passed. Even pissed, he was so delicious.

Maybe that was why you two fought so often.

You were quite the sight too, your blood boiling as you waited for him to say anything of substance, your arms now crossed your chest. Your breath was heaving under the pressure and your skin was on fire.

Then, like a rubber band giving under the immense pressure of being stretched past its limit, Bucky gave in, just like you knew he would. Within a minute, you were pressed hard against the wall, his forearms firm under your thighs as he held you there, his lips on your own.

His breath was raging, not that yours was any better, and he’d bit so hard into your bottom lip that you could taste the iron when he finally backed up for air, not that either of you cared.

“I’ll get rid of him” you decided, after a few seconds of silence, the male’s forehead rested against your own.

It was uncharted territory for you both, but maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing. If nothing else, it would get him off your back for a little while.

[wkemeup]

Losing Riley

summary: Before she met Bucky, Y/n’s world was shattered. Sam was the common thread that helped her pick up the pieces again.  pairings: riley x reader, hinted future bucky x reader warnings: character death, grief  🧡 series masterlist / series playlist

You woke to cold sheets. A hand slid over to the left side of an empty bed and your heart clenched. The startling realization settled in each morning as the distant glow of the sunrise peered through the curtains – Riley was still an ocean away and you were still emphatically alone. 

But you were determined to make the most of the day, even if Riley wasn’t there to spend it with you. It was his mother’s birthday whether he was stateside or not and you were insistent not to let the ocean waters sweep you under in his absence. So, you pressed on a smile and dragged your feet to the bathroom to tame your hair and dry your eyes. His family would be expecting you and one of your homemade cakes by the evening.  

You dared a glance at yourself in the mirror, clad only in the US Air Force t-shirt Riley had left behind. It was rich in army green color and the logo stood bright against your chest. You wondered how much wear the shirt could handle before it started to fade. It had lost Riley’s scent after you’d worn it for a week straight, the lingering glimpses of his presence dimming night by night. You could only hope it wouldn’t shrink in the wash.  

You spent the day perfecting the cake his parents had grown to crave; three-tiered and coated in layers of chocolate frosting. Billy Joel sang on the radio and you mumbled your way through the verses of We Didn’t Start the Fire to distract yourself from imagining Riley seated at the countertop, watching you with love struck smirk on his face and a dab of frosting at the corner of his lips. The book on the counter held a gentle layer of flour on the pages. It kept you company until the timer rang.  

The dress you wore was one you’d purchased with the intent to wear for a date night when Riley came home after his first tour. Though it was red in color, it was not striking or bold – instead, it was soft, almost muted, and it carried a sort of gentle effervescence to it. Modest but charming. You’d hoped it would make him smile. You hadn’t counted on how the war stealing his ability to do so.  

It was the first time you wore the dress since you bought it. Maybe you’d ask his mother to take a picture of you with the cake to send to him. He might like that. He seemed to be himself more when he was away than when he was home in your arms these days.  

You had the cab drop you at the end of the driveway. It was long enough to catch the glow of Christmas lights still draped around the trees outside and hidden under layers of snow, despite the fact that it was well into January. The suburbs were so quiet compared to the city; you’d forgotten how much you enjoyed spending time at his parent’s house. They’d welcomed you to their table, even in the months Riley was overseas. It was a burden you shared together – to be left behind.  

You’d only made it halfway up the driveway when you noticed the two men standing at the porch. They were dressed in formal uniforms, white hats held down by their hearts. You hadn’t realized you’d stopped moving until the snow started to soak into your shoes. It piled on the pointed toes of your heels.  

Riley’s mother stood in the open-door way, a vacant look upon her face. Her husband was at her side, shaking his head as he struggled to grab onto his wife before she let out a wail that echoed so painfully, birds scattered from nearby trees.  

Her knees gave way from under her as she fell to the ground in sobs. The two men in uniform did their best to comfort her, only to be shoved away. They stood back and watched a mother grieve her only son at a respectful distance. 

“Y/n?” 

Your hands were shaking. The cake tray had slipped from your fingers and fell into the snow. A mess of sweet chocolate amongst pavement and ice. The voice called your name again, concerned, frantic, and you could only vaguely make out a blurred figure racing towards you.  

Everything around you tunneled, your knees weakening as you struggled to fight against the ice under your heels and the weight suddenly barreling down on your shoulders. All you could hear was the screams of Riley’s mother as she held onto her husband, unable to move from the comfort of the ground.  

“Y/n, come with me,” the voice eased and you looked up to find Sam Wilson standing a few paces ahead of you dressed in his formal Air Force blues, gold wings on his shoulder and a series of colorful pins on his left breast. He held out a hand to you. 

“Let’s go inside, okay?” he tried again but you shook your head, eyes darting back to Riley’s mother.  

You tried to take in another breath but found it shallow, as if your lungs had collapsed beside your heart in mutual surrender.  

“You’re having a panic attack,” Sam told you calmly. “I need you to listen to me, okay? Focus on my voice.” 

You nodded quickly, tears burning in your eyes, though you couldn’t tell if it was from the shattered remains in your chest or the light headedness pulling your vision under. Sam bent down and grabbed a handful of snow. 

“Here. Feel this,” he ordered evenly, placing the snow in your bare hand. He stepped back, shaking out his gloves. “It’s cold, right?” 

Yes, you tried to say though the word didn’t quite leave your lips. It stung, but there was a comfort in it. You watched as it melted in your palm, your skin burning from where it had been.  

“Smells like Christmas trees out here, doesn’t it?” Sam added, taking in a deep breath. He smiled. “Reminds me of the tree farms I used to go to with my dad every year growing up.” 

You followed his lead, taking in as much of a breath as your body would allow. He was right, it did smell like pines. Riley’s family planted a few along their property line because his mother loved Christmas so much. It smelled like Fraser and Balsam Fir all year round.  

You concentrated on the smell of the trees, the chocolate that had scattered into the snow in clumps of frosting and cake; the sound of Sam’s voice, of Riley’s mother’s cries; the feel of the chill on your skin and the snow in your hand. You focused until you could draw in a full breath enough to make sense of the destruction around you. 

“He’s dead, isn’t he?” you asked, voice trembling on the verge of tears.  

Sam’s shoulders fell, a terrible longing pressed over his features. “I’m so sorry, Y/n.” 

Despite your efforts, your knees buckled in mirror to Riley’s mother. Sam caught you before you could hit the ground, his arms encasing around you as your body fought the violent tremors shaking through you. You cried against his jacket, as the snow built upon your shoulders and wet your hair. You cried until there was little else your body could give. 

*** 

You barely remembered the funeral.  

A folded flag had been placed in the lap of Riley’s mother as she sobbed. A casket had been lowered into the ground. Guns fired in salute and you flinched at each one as they echoed against the stormy grey skies. Sam held your hand through the entire ceremony, squeezing it hard enough to leave a mark when it looked like you were teetering on the edge of an endless void. He stayed on your couch that night and pretended not to hear as you cried yourself to sleep. 

There was an emptiness that took hold of you when Riley left for his first tour, but there was still a lingering hope. You’d managed to hold onto the image of a man at war and his woman waiting for him to return. He wrote often and you kept each letter in a shoe box under the bed. It was a script of a movie you’d learned to follow – the scraps of love you could grasp from the shores of the Atlantic.  

When he came home, he was hollow. He wasn’t the man you’d kissed goodbye with a cheesy, hopeful grin on his face. He’d lost the spark behind his eye and the glow in his skin. He became withdrawn and angry; lashing out when you reached to him with an anchor in your hand as if he favored the unforgiving currents pulling him under.  

The time you spent with him before he left again hurt worse than when he was gone. He longed for the sky like a bird with a broken wing. It was within reach, so close and so impossibly far from his grasp. He pushed you away, convinced you would never understand the resentment he carried towards civilian life and the utter inability to conform to it.  

Perhaps he was right. You’d shouted it yourself one night until you were both hoarse and in tears. You would never understand, but it didn’t mean you couldn’t try, that you didn’t love him any less.  

You’d seen the way the war had hurt him. It shoved nightmares to his dreams and panic in his veins. It made him hypervigilant and paranoid. It isolated him from his friends and family. It made him feel like a monster in the skin of a man, pretending to be someone he wasn’t; smiling through aching muscles as if he were a portrait hanging in a museum.  

He pretended to be fine. He pretended to try. He never was.  

It didn’t surprise you the day he told you he was going back.  

Still – you begged. Despite the tears, the months of heartache and panic attacks and night terrors, you were desperate for him to stay. You were desperate to rebuild what the war had broken between you. You loved him and it wasn’t enough.  

After he left, you tried to pretend as he did – that everything was fine, that you didn’t feel an ache in your chest at the thought of him, that you were a woman waiting on your soldier to return home.  

He was more himself when he called. He became the Riley you remembered in the beginning; full of hope and eager to prove himself. He smiled often and laughed as his friends teased him for the blush in his cheeks when you appeared on the screen. It was those moments that encouraged you to hang on, that reminded you why he was worth the pain and heartache.  

Those moments gave you hope that this time would be different. When Riley came home, the two of you would be just fine. The soldier and his girl.  

Always optimistic. Always sunny. Always finding silver linings. 

You should have known better than that.  

*** 

Mrs. Jefferson was surprised the day you showed up at work dressed in shades of grey and black, returning the piles of books you had yet to read.  

“You should go home, dear,” she eased, slipping the glasses from the bridge of her nose to rest on the beads against her chest. “It’s too soon for you to be at work.” 

“I’m fine,” you mumbled. You didn’t put much effort into the lie but you couldn’t stand to be in your apartment another second longer. It was too quiet, too empty. You’d never lived with Riley but his things were scattered around your place. The Air Force shirt sat crumbled at the foot of your bed.  

“Honey, you forget that I know what you are going through,” Mrs. Jefferson sighed, placing a trembling hand over yours. You paused. “Be patient with yourself. Have kindness for the man you lost. You’ll see the sun again, my dear. I promise.” 

You didn’t know whether it was the tenderness in her words or the way her aged hand curled around yours that broke you. Tears blurred over your eyes and you sank into her embrace as she drew circles against your spine. If the visitors noticed your grief, they did not say anything. For that, you were grateful.  

*** 

It took time before you could think of Riley without crying. Months, maybe, but it was progress. Sam stopped by daily in the beginning, showing up with coffee and donuts from Luciana’s and forcing you to get out of bed just to open the door for him before he woke the neighbors. You’d come to expect him and started to ready yourself before he arrived.  

He swung by after work some days with takeout and some weekends he dragged you to his friend Steve’s house where they watched football and you filled your stomach with nachos and buffalo chicken dip.  

He taught you to smile again despite yourself because Sam was infectious no matter how deep the void you’d caged yourself in. It was impossible not to return his smile, impossible not to try for a man who so genuinely wanted you to succeed. He was Riley’s partner and he knew Riley on a level not even you had seen. Sam grieved different than you did, but he grieved nonetheless. It was something you shared in. Something you overcame together, too.  

The day he brought you to the VA, you’d dragged your feet the whole way.  

“Trust me, kid,” Sam urged, yanking your hand along the sidewalk, but you planted your feet. Sam rolled his eyes. “Do it for Riley.” 

Your jaw dropped, though Sam started to smirk. “Don’t evoke Riley’s name to guilt me into working for the people who took him from us, Sam!”  

“I’m guilting you into volunteering. Let’s make that clear,” Sam retorted. “I’m not paying you shit.” 

You laughed despite the frown on your face.  

“Second, these guys aren’t the big shots who sit in their cozy offices while our boots on the ground see the real fight,” Sam said, squeezing your hand. He wasn’t teasing anymore. His smile was genuine as his features softened, a sad sort of memory on his mind. “They’re guys like Riley, Y/n. Guys who could use the help he should have had.” 

Your lips parted, unable to come up with an excuse to say next. You thought of Riley curled up on the floor with his hands pressed over his ears as fireworks lit up the sky on New Year’s Eve. You thought of the dark circles under his eyes from sleepless dreams and the toll it took on your relationship. You thought of the shame he felt for pushing you away, for being unable to stop himself from hurting you, too.  

You shook your head. “I don’t know if I’m strong enough for that, Sam.” 

“Just come with me to the open house,” Sam tried, tugging on your hand and this time, you let him drag you a few steps. “If it’s too much, I won’t push it again...” he bit his lip, “until next year.” 

“Fine!” you laughed, falling in stride with him as he fist pumped the air in victory. “I don’t know how Riley put up with you for so long.” 

“With much reluctance,” Sam snickered. 

It felt nice to be able to talk about Riley without it hurting. It still ached, but it was a pleasant ache – like maybe remembering him didn’t have to be a bad thing, like maybe it could bring you a little joy, too.  

Sam brought you into his office first to draw you away from the crowds. It gave you a chance to take off your coat and ease yourself into the surroundings before Sam inevitably threw a handful of strangers on you with terrible stories and sad faces to convince you to stay.  

“I just gotta find a file for Steve and we can head out to the main room, alright?”  

You nodded, taking the time to look around Sam’s office. It wasn’t anything like you’d pictured it to be. You’d expected it to be in chaos – disorganized, with papers stacked high on the desk and a basketball hoop hanging over the trash bin – but it was rather professional. He had awards framed on the wall, metals encased in glass. File cabinets labeled and not a pen out of place.  

But it was the photo sitting on his desk that drew your attention. You picked it up, recognizing Sam at the center in his Air Force uniform and a younger, more doe-eyed Steve Rogers who stood beside him dressed in army greens. But there was a third man hanging off Sam’s left shoulder you didn’t know. 

He was handsome. Smile bright enough to rival even that of Sam’s. With short, brown hair and eyes as blue as you’d ever seen, you wondered whether his face might be one you’d see out in the crowd of veterans gathered in the lobby.  

“That’s Bucky,” Sam grinned, pointing to the man in the photo. “He’s still out on tour.” 

You handed Sam the picture, tucking your hair behind your ear nervously, and he seemed to enjoy how flustered you were.  

“He’s scheduled to be home next year though,” Sam added, studying for your reaction. “I’ll see if I can get him to swing by if... you know... you’re volunteering here.”  

You glared at Sam until he broke into laughter.  

“Come on, I’ll introduce you to the regulars,” Sam grinned, grabbing your hand and dragging you out into the crowd in the lobby.  

You knew before Steve’s presentation on the services at the VA even began that Sam had tied your heart with string to this building and the people in it. You saw Riley’s face in everyone who shook your hand – from the petite, red headed woman with a questionable background and kind eyes to the son of a billionaire who had joined the Air Force in rebellion and found he rather liked being just ‘one of the guys.’ 

It was as if you could feel a hand on your back, urging you forward, into the arms of these people and the compassion they could give to you. You wondered if Sam knew that it would be as much a kindness to you as you could be for them, to be able to give your time to this place. Ideas began to spring in your mind of how you could bring your love of books to your work here and how much you’d missed reading yourself. 

Maybe this place could heal you, too.  

It took a single glance from Sam across the room to know he’d convinced you. He smiled, raising a glass of cheap red wine, and nodded. It was the first time in months you’d felt a glimmer of hope, a reason to be excited, a possibility for good amongst the broken.  

You clung onto it with everything you had.  

[levicanpunchme]

Hi i found your profile today and I read all of it I am SO IN LOVE WITH YOUR WRITING!!💕Hope u are doing well and getting enough rest!Can i please request Levixfem!reader where they watch scary movie and reader is scared during and after the horror movie maybe u can do hc with levi or one shot!If u like the idea and u are ok to do it can u put much fluff?💕🥺

Thank you for suggesting! Hope you enjoy ;)

——————————————————————

Levi X Y/N

Genre: Romance/Fluff

Warning: Contains a tiny make-out description

Movie Night Gone Right

The air seemed to be drowning in thick tension, terror bustling in your veins as you held onto the edge of your blanket. You scoffed to yourself: modern technology had really evolved so much: the large television screen amplified every emotion especially whilst watching horror movies. It felt like the heinous predators would jump out of the screen any moment, making you piss yourself.

The darkness in the room and eerie music from the television made it impossible for your mind to gravitate elsewhere. Your body was taut as you held your breath while the stupid main characters died one after another in the haunted villa.

You looked to your far right at your boyfriend, who seemed quite unaffected by the countless jump scares. Even whilst watching a terrifying movie, you didn’t see him bat an eye.

He was either too brave or-borderline sociopathic. You hoped for the former.

“Why’re you always choosing horror movies on our date nights, Levi?” You bitterly muttered, your annoyance visible in your tone. Every weekend, you both watched a new movie and he chose horror every damn time.

Your boyfriend looked away from the screen, his wolf-like eyes reading yours. His dark black hair attractively fell like curtains on his forehead, disheveled and messy.

“Because they’re fun,” he monotonously replied.

His response made you speechless. “Fun? What part of large scale man-slaughter and cannibalism, fun?” You cried, disturbed at his reasoning. Horror movies just gave you vivid nightmares and trauma. You usually spent weekend nights with Levi just because you were too scared to head back to your dorm.

Levi’s lips curled into an unapologetic smirk as he glanced back to the television screen. You glared at him narrowly and then resumed watching the movie. A few minutes in, another terrifying scream erupted from the television and your body grew cold, your blanket now scrunched within your clenched fists.

“You’re shaking,” Levi’s soft voice pulled you out of the gory massacres of the movie. He swiftly scooted closer to you as his arm found its way around the small of your back. He wrapped you close to him, your face resting against his chest.

Your chest ached with joy as you heard his heartbeat, trashing against your frame, sending vibrations through your body. His familiar soapy scent washed over you and ignited a deep fire within the pit of your stomach. Your scent mixing with his made your toes curl in pleasure. You liked stealing some of his sweatshirts to take them back to your dorm just to smell him on you. The warmth of his breath cascading down your forehead sent tingles down your spine, making your heart ache with jitters. It was the feeling of being beside him that gave you pleasure.

The movie watching experience was ten times better with Levi holding your body.

Levi’s arm around your frame never loosened. Your warmth embracing him gave him the unfamiliar feeling of a home. His head was filled with you alone, so much so that he didn’t even know who the hell the main characters were in the movie; a week of pent up frustration from not seeing you starting to quench as your warmth diffused into him, making him feel like he were a part of you.

He started dating you a few months ago and it was crazy how damn clingy he had gotten in just a matter of months. At first, he never intended on letting a woman into his territory but you defeated the strong walls that were guarding his heart. When he tasted the sweetness of your lips, he forgot every promise he had made to himself and felt his walls shatter into nothingness.

Levi wanted to snatch you away from the shackles of your university which constantly demanded your attention, keeping you busy with assignments and exams; he wished to burn the whole building down along with your dorm so you could live with him, giving him the epiphany of waking up beside you. He hated anything which took you away from him. Selfish, yes but he couldn’t help it.

He dug his nose into your silky hair, acting subtle so you wouldn’t catch onto his motives. He wanted to run his fingers down the long strands all day, but he couldn’t. No matter how weak you had him, he didn’t want that side to be seen by you.

If he scared you away with his carelessness, he’d throw himself off a rooftop.

He surveyed you, and rechecked for any signs of awareness but seeing the intense emotions in your eyes, he realised you were sucked up into the haunted world of the movie.

He silently smiled to himself and inhaled your scent. Your fragrance was so therapeutic, a fresh breeze of comfort to his exhausted body. His insides squeezed in joy. You were like a heavenly addiction, fulfilling his needs, comforting his emotions.

“Levi, that woman was the imposter all along!” Automatically, his eyes regained its indifference, the smile of his lips disintegrating as he peeled his eyes away from you to the screen.

You looked up at him while snuggling in his chest. Levi pretended to be immersed within the movie and then looked down at you; he almost stopped breathing seeing your lustrous, wide eyes looking up at him like he were the only one on this planet. His breathing became shallow as he quickly nodded, and looked away from you.

“Levi...” you noticed his heaving chest.

You stared at him doubtfully and then it dawned upon you. His eyes were cold but his body said otherwise. He was so warm and his heart was beating so heavily, your stomach flooded with a mass of butterflies.

“Levi, who’s the imposter?” Your heart was skipping a beat as you tried confirming your doubts.

He visibly froze, your question catching him off guard. His adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed his nervousness like a deer caught in headlights.

“Why're you asking me that? Aren’t you watching?” He counterattacked, hoping this would divert your attention.

You stared at him for a good minute and then looked at the television screen. “Yeah but I was just wondering if you ever doubted that white haired lady. She looked so innocent, asking for help and stuff.” You watched his reaction, waiting for his response.

“Yeah, didn’t expect that.”

Chills travelled down your spine as you realised what had been happening these past few weeks: why he always suggested on watching horror movies; why he kept on asking you when will your semester end; why he didn’t like going out to the shopping mall for dates. Everything started making sense.

“Levi, there is no white haired lady asking for help in this movie,” your breathy voice made him flinch and tense up. You had never seen Levi outrightly display his emotions but right now, you could see the little rims of his ears going darker red, a pool of redness pumping through his cheeks as his bottom lip trembled.

Processing, you grabbed the remote from his lap and turned the television off. Your heart was thudding against your ribs as you observed Levi’s clenched fist.

“Why’re you making me watch horror movies when you don’t like them yourself?” Your voice was so soft and airy, comforting him.

You were currently having the time of your life, watching your rigid, formal boyfriend emotionally overwhelmed and embarrassed.

“Answer me Levi,” you dared him.

He gripped his nape and sighed, his nose crinkled with reluctance. Very softly, his words held you astounded.

“So you can get scared and hide into my arms.” —you almost gasped, your body shrivelling as a feeling of mystical happiness engulfed your chest. Your heart palpitated as you stared at the man who owned your heart, feeling the corner of your eyes burn.

“Why didn’t you just—say so?” You whispered.

He looked up at you, his eyes hinting of annoyance. “Because,” he muttered, his words caught in his mouth. You waited patiently. You would wait forever for him, only Levi Ackerman.

“I don’t want to scare you off,” his white skin looked so flushed. Seeing him, your body instantly warmed up too.

“Levi,” his name fell from your mouth like butter. Then earnestly, you climbed on his lap, your leg on either sides of him, facing him. The bold response made you fluster, your cheeks flaring up as you stared into the grey mists of his eyes.

His reaction was instant. His body became taut under your heat as he gazed into your eyes with a suffocating intensity. He instinctively pulled you closer, pulling you into him. Closer, closer until two bodies mushed into one, not an inch of space left in between.

“Levi, I want to dwell you in so much love, so much affection that you might get tired of me and throw me away,” you started with confessing.

Both of you were new to a relationship; both had fears and doubts hurdling your paths. How much volume of love do we express? How much of love do we need to hold back? Is there an exact percentage? Will holding his hand make him uninterested? Will pulling you into his arms seem clingy? The questions were numerous; answers, numerous.

Levi’s chest was heaving in a way you never expected. His eyes were darker than usual, thunderously grey and passionate with a whirlwind of emotions erupting loose; his body was hotter and eyelids heavy as he stared at you with an intensity he never let you see before.

“I get excited when you call me to pick me up from uni-when you text me to remind me of our date nights, and when you let me see through your exterior, when you let me explore every side to you.”

It was taking everything in you to not run away and go into hiding. Your words were exposing the sides you kept to yourself but it was time to let go. It was time to let him know exactly who you belong to.

“Levi Ackerman, if it’s you, I’ll give up everything to be by your side.”

Your words were cut short as his hand held the back of your head and like a desperate wolf, he pulled your lips into his. Every fibre of your being sprung to life. It felt like all the happiness of the world was thrown at you so suddenly, you couldn’t contain your emotions. His moist lips feasted on your mouth and impatiently invaded you with his tongue. Your audible panting was almost embarrassing but you could hear him struggle to breath as well. While he rendered you breathless, his mouth drank from within you like a thirsty stray dog. His arms around you had you locked, unable to escape, nor did you want to.

As you panted to inhale some air, his lips peeled off your mouth, up to your eyelid; he kissed one and then the other. He was breathing so heavily with his nose, your heart faltered at the sounds. He ran his fingers down your silky hair strands and dropped tantalising kisses down your cheek, to your chin and your nose. “I-want-to-steal-you-away-from-the-world,” he confessed, in between mind numbing kisses. He then buried his nose inside the crevice of your neck, inhaling you shamelessly. “If I could, I would-absorb-you-within me,” the hurling emotions he had kept inside were pouring out like unforeseen rain.

He kissed your neckline, tasting and inhaling every inch of you. “I can’t get tired of you, y/n,” his soft words tugged at your heart, making your eyes well up. You were so overwhelmed by his love, and your love for him that your vision was becoming hazy.

“Levi, promise to share your true feelings with me?” You asked, your hand finding its way into his undercut, you pulled at his baby hairs, making his eyes screw shut in pleasure, a comforting sigh left his mouth.

He nodded, spellbound by your touch.

You edged your face closer, kissing the high bridge of his nose and each one of his eyebrows.

“So no more, horror movies?” You muttered resentfully against his lips. His eyes opened again and a soft smile illuminated his mouth as he kissed your plump lips again, not getting enough.

“No more horror movies,” he promised.

You giggled lovingly and kissed the corner of his warm mouth affectionately.

“Move in with me.”

You almost fell back, his words pushing you over the edge. You almost thought you misheard him but the glint of honesty in his eyes proved otherwise. He was dead serious.

“Uh—are you sure? I can be very annoying and lazy...” You didn’t think this was a good idea.

He cut you off, annoyance present in his narrow eyes. “I don’t care,” he rasped.

“I can also be quite messy and you don’t like mess-” You knew this excuse might make him reconsider.

His conviction remained unabated. “I’ll help you clean,” he quickly responded.

You held back your giggle. A day ago, if someone had told you that Levi Ackerman would be begging you with his narrow intimidating eyes to move in with him, you would’ve slapped them in the face for lying.

What changes could a day make...

“What if I don’t want to clean,” you pouted, deciding to tease him.

“Fine, I’ll clean for you,” he responded without hesitation and waited eagerly.

You broke into a melodious giggle which made him roll his eyes at you.

“Okay, Mr. Ackerman. I agree,” you casually responded and kissed his jawline.

Levi exuberantly stood up still carrying you in his arms as a huge grin elevated his facial features. “Let’s get your things.” He put you down on your feet and hurried to the table to grab his keys.

“Wait hold on... right now?” You stared at the clock. It was past midnight and your dormitory was probably closed.

Levi nodded eagerly. “Right now. We’ll request them to let us in.” Before you could object, he was already putting on his shoes and grabbing yours so you could gear up.

You stared at your boyfriend: he looked like an eager kid preparing to go to Disneyland after his parents promised him so. You wondered since how long had Levi put his inner childishness and love away, afraid of the consequences. And then Levi pulled you to the sofa, tying your shoes before you could change your mind and dragged you with him all the way to your dormitory in the later hours of the night. After fighting the guards and begging your dormitory manager, he successively managed to get you to pack up your belongings and come live with him starting that very auspicious movie night.

[moodymelanist]

Elucien first kiss/date from the modern AU I beg you🧎🏾‍♀️

okay let’s go with the first kiss within the mean girl Elain/doesn’t give a fuck Lucien AU courtesy of @ncssian 😌

I’ll be up writing prompts for another hour while I wait for What If episode 2 to come out so feel free to send more if y’all are up!

Lucien hadn’t seen Elain for almost two weeks, not since he’d bumped into her coming back from her Halloween party. As much as she irritated him, he couldn’t get her tearstained face out of his mind. They weren’t close enough for him to reach out to make sure she was alright, and although he was friendly with the oldest Archeron sister, Nesta wouldn’t take kindly to him asking about Elain.

She didn’t show up to their shared class today, but he wasn’t going to pry; he was just tired of not having anyone to exchanged barbed insults with. When class let out he figured he’d head back to his dorm, considering it was his last one for the day and he didn’t have any plans with Vassa or Jurian.

He’d been lucky enough to get a single in one of the nicer dorms and he hadn’t taken it for granted for a single second. He dropped his backpack by the door, took off his shoes, and collapsed onto his bed with the relief of being done for the day.

Lucien was just on the edge of dozing off when someone knocked on his door and woke him up. Grumbling, he reached for a hair tie and pulled his hair into a messy bun before yanking open the door to reveal one Elain Archeron.

She looked pissed but much better than the last time he’d seen her; her bronze hair was pulled back into a half up half down style that showed off her perfectly made up face. She tended to keep her makeup natural and he liked how it showed off her lovely features, but over his dead body would he tell her that.

“How the hell did you figure out where I lived?” he asked.

“I’m a witch,” she said flatly. She raised an eyebrow and shifted her backpack on her shoulders. “Are you going to let me in or not?”

“Fine.” He moved aside and let her into his dorm, thankful that he’d cleaned his little room thoroughly last night. “Can I help you?”

“God, you’re rude,” Elain snapped. She glared daggers at him as she forcefully shut the door behind her and walked over to sit on his bed. She was so short that her legs hung comically over the edge and he had to hold back a laugh.

“You show up at my dorm completely unannounced and expect me to be nice?” Lucien shot back. “Give me a break, Munchkin.”

“Munchkin?” she repeated, her voice going up several octaves. “I came here to return your ugly fucking jacket and you want to call me names?”

“I did you a favor that night but you’re insulting my clothes?” he asked. He couldn’t help but snort. “Classic Elain Archeron, I guess.”

She gave him another murderous glare before taking off her backpack — pink, of course, to match her outfit — and unzipping it to reveal his jacket he’d loaned her a few weeks ago. “Here, asshole.”

“Thank you,” he replied dryly. She threw it as hard as she could but considering it wasn’t very heavy, it was child’s play for him to catch it before it hit him in the face. “You throw like a child.”

Elain got off his bed, zipped up her backpack, and put it on her shoulders before she got in his face. “Is being a dick just your default setting?”

“Is being a bitch yours?” Lucien fired back. He wanted to take the words back as soon as he’d said them, especially considering how outraged she looked.

“You are the most insufferable, rude, son of a bitch I’ve ever met—” she started, her voice rising. She jabbed at his chest with her pointer finger and he shooed her hand away.

“Oh please, you should talk,” he snapped. He wasn’t quite yelling at her but his voice was raised to match her volume. “You blackmailed me within our first conversation like the little snake you are.”

“I’d rather be a snake than a sloth,” she hissed. “You’re lazy for even taking this class when you’re a native speaker. You can’t even push yourself to try harder. It’s pathetic.”

They were so close together that Lucien could feel Elain’s chest rising and falling as she glared at him. He was glaring right back at her and was so angry about all the things she’d said about him like she even knew him well enough to say them, as if she could speak about things she had no clue about—

He wasn’t quite sure who moved first, but he blinked and they were kissing. His anger burned away into desire as he dropped his jacket and pulled her closer, doing his best to bend down to her height while she stood on her toes. She was quite the angry kisser and he matched her intensity right back, even daring to dig his hands into her soft hair with a little groan. She pulled away much sooner than he would’ve liked, her lips a little pink from their frenzied kiss.

“If you tell anyone about this, you’re dead,” Elain said. She gave him one last glare before she opened his door and slammed it on her way out.

[jimlingss]

Hi! Here’s a request for your Drabble game: namjoon + fantasy au + “Take this seriously, it’s a life or death situation!” Can be funny or angsty and sorry if this request is too specific haha

Anonymous said: Hello Kina! I love literally all of your works! Can I request this prompt? “That’s barbaric.” “That’s how you survive.” Any member!

Anonymous said: zombie au with any member ?

Zombies count as fantasy, right? lol

↳ The Unintended

2.5k || 50% Angst, 50% Fluff || Kim Namjoon || Zombie Apocalypse!AU

You’re lucky to have Namjoon by your side.

He’s always been the outdoorsy type. One of your first dates together was a camping trip in the wilderness. You remember being mortified then — having no place to do your makeup or properly shower or be able to make yourself look good for him. But now you look back on the memories with fondness. He didn’t care back then and he doesn’t care now.

Not to mention, Namjoon was also a boy scout for eight years. When he got too old for that, he took up rock climbing and spent hours in the gym to beef up his arms. It’s where you met him in the first place as a receptionist at the gym where you were working part-time while going to school.

He knows how to fish. How to set up traps. How to start a campfire. 

Namjoon’s saved your life countless times.

But then again, he’d argue you’ve saved him lots of times too. Years of schooling to become a nurse wasn’t wasted on you after all. And you’re the better cook than he is.

“Look what I caught!”

You look up from the fire where your dear husband is holding a usual fish. But in his other hand is a rabbit held by its ears, dead. It’s dripping of blood, limp in his grip and you feel a twinge of guilt.

“That’s barbaric.”

“That’s how you survive,” he says. “I’ll prepare it to roast.”

You hum, taking the fish from him and the pair of you fall into routine. Namjoon works alongside you to prepare the food, poking the fire interchangeably and the both of you looking up once in a while through the thicket of the forest. 

After a moment, you pipe up, “Hey.”

Namjoon glances up at you and says “hey” with a tender, dimpled smile. 

The corner of your mouth quirks without being able to resist. “I’ve been thinking we should get on the move again. I saw a cottage down the road on our way here. Maybe we could check it out.”

“It’s probably already been ransacked.”

“Yeah, but it’ll be nice to sleep with a roof over our heads. I don’t want you to stay up and have to keep watch.”

“We take turns.”

You give Namjoon a look. “You never wake me up for my turn.”

He smiles sheepishly and you put your blunt knife down, quickly growing solemn. “I’m serious, Joon. It’s not good for your health to not sleep and I can’t— I can’t have you breaking down on me.”

Namjoon softens when he recognizes your distressed tone, when he sees your expression marred with worry. “Okay,” he murmurs gently. “We’ll leave tomorrow morning then.”

You nod and the two of you fall into a comfortable silence. 

As the fish and rabbit are roasted over the blazing fire, smoke fills your nose and you cough before batting it away. You’re starving — in general, you’ve been feeling weak these days but you don’t dare say anything to Namjoon. God knows what he’s putting himself through to make you feel as comfortable as you can. 

You don’t want to worry him even more.

But you can’t hide your groan or sickly expression when the fish you’re supposed to eat comes up to your mouth.

Namjoon’s immediately alarmed and wide-eyed. “What’s wrong? Is it bad?”

You hand the stick that’s pierced with the fish over to him while cupping your mouth, trying not to vomit. “I’m sorry. It just smells really bad.”

“I made it the exact same way before.” He frowns and bites into the fish that’s still steaming. Namjoon chews in his cheek. “It tastes fine, Y/N.”

You shake your head. “I’m good. I’ll have the rabbit.”

But as you shift over, your husband’s eyes bore into your profile.

Namjoon stares at you. He gawks.

Then his mouth opens and he says— “Are you pregnant?”

Your eyes double and you look back at him. But then you scoff. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

You look away from him, picking at the meat, but you swallow hard in the meanwhile, mind racing. It’s not possible. It shouldn’t be possible. You haven’t had your period for three months — but you didn’t think twice about it. Not when there were more pressing matters. Not when you just assumed it stopped because you haven’t had your nutrients and you’ve been starving.

Namjoon knows the gears in your head are turning by your expression. He knows after years of being together.

“Y/N.”

“I already said it’s not possible.”

“There’s a city ten miles away from here. It’ll take half a day to walk there, but there should be a pharmacy or a hospital—”

“We are not going to the city,” you interrupt in exasperation. “It’s a death sentence, Namjoon, and we’re fine out here.”

“Not if you’re pregnant.”

“I’m not.” You deflate with an annoyed sigh. “I know my body best, alright? So just drop it.”

Namjoon stays silent. 

The rustling leaves of the forest and the distant sound of the river rushing fills the growing space between the two of you. And it sinks in how harsh and upset you got. You look up towards your husband with remorseful eyes. The last thing you want is to fight out here. Who knows when it could be your last moment together. “I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s fine. I was just worried.”

You nod. “There’s nothing to worry about.”

Yet deep down, uncertainty swirls and you’re green with nausea again.

...

It took a year to happen.

At first, it was called a flu outbreak. Authorities kept it contained for a few weeks until it wasn’t anymore. Within the span of another week, it was declared a worldwide pandemic and entire countries went into quarantine. 

Life itself shut down. People complained and protested, and when thousands started to drop dead, there were protests for lack of government action. Then, it was millions dead.

Developing countries fell first. It didn’t take long after that for developed nations to follow.

Chaos. Panic. Looting. The dead walking the streets.

You still get nightmares about it. Namjoon does too — when he’s holding you and suddenly jolts awake, gasping. It’s then and there that you know he’s had a nightmare of one of the many close calls.

“I thought the cottage was closer than this.”

The both of you are trekking through the forest, lugging your bags and weapons, trying to remain as quiet and elusive as possible. 

Namjoon looks over his shoulder. “Do you need a break?”

You shake your head. “I’m fine.”

“It should be up ahead.”

You hum, feeling the heat of the sun beating down on you. But it’s still better now with the canopy of the trees hiding you. It’s refreshing even. You admire the unfamiliar scenery. 

All at once, you stop. None of this should be unfamiliar.

Namjoon doesn’t hear the crunch of leaves behind him and turns around.

“This isn’t the direction of the cottage, is it?”

“Y/N.”

Your brows furrow deep enough to hurt. “I already said we’re not going to the city, Namjoon! Why don’t you ever listen to me?!”

Suddenly, there’s snarling in the distance. Namjoon, on alert, clasps his palm over your mouth and both sets of your eyes flicker over. There’s a shadow in the distance, a lurching figure amongst the trees. It snarls again, jerking a bit in your direction, but then no sounds follow. 

It passes.

You breathe a sigh of relief.

“We have to go eventually, Y/N,” he whispers. “We need more supplies and if I can get my hands on a car, that would help us.”

“But—”

Your husband gingerly takes your hand, cradling it softly. “We’ll be careful.”

You gaze at him, searching his expression as if you’re painting his features to the forefront of your mind. But you already have. Yet, it’s not enough to feel comforted. “I can’t lose you, Namjoon. I can’t.”

Namjoon reaches out to hug you, embracing your body, frame overtaking yours.

You grasp onto his shoulders, trying to savour the moment and capture his warmth.

“You won’t. Not if I can help it.”

You nod into his chest.

The trek to the city is completed by afternoon and you find yourself standing in the remains of what was once civilization. There are decayed buildings, abandoned tanks, and much to Namjoon’s delight, many deserted cars. You see zombies bumbling around too. They’ve infested every corner street, every line of the road, and alley, nook and cranny. 

Their bodies are decaying, some with skulls lodged in half and their brain unraveling behind them. You have to hold back a gag when you can smell the rotten odour from here.

Luckily, you and Namjoon move quickly. You throw bricks and bottles at a distance to attract them and run the opposite way together.

First, you get to the small grocery store, opening your backpacks for the spare cans of beans and peas. It’s not much, but it’s a lot at this point. Namjoon even manages to score bandages.

“This is enough,” you murmur when you’re back on the open street again.

But before you can move on out, he stops. “Wait.”

You follow Namjoon’s line of sight. Across the street is a pharmacy and a horde of infected.

You pull your husband back before he can book it and the both of you hide behind discarded crates on the road. “Wait, why?”

“You know why. There were none in the grocery store. I checked, but if there’s any place that has them, it’s there.”

If looks could kill, Namjoon would be six feet under and then crawling out of his grave as a zombie. Maybe as the first one who wasn’t bitten or infected by the virus. “You’re being an idiot.” 

Namjoon grins. “Well, I was thinking of just shouting a battle cry and running straight in there.”

“Take this seriously,” you hiss and punch his arm. It does little to even push him back, much less hurt him. It doesn’t help that his muscles are rock solid. If only his brain was as developed — but if you were being honest, Namjoon was quite intelligent too. Except for right now. “It’s a life or death situation.”

Namjoon smiles, practically from ear to ear. 

The dimples on each side of his cheek crease and before you can react or say much else, he leans in and captures your lips with his. It’s a soft and sweet kiss. Then your husband cradles your face in his hand and tilts your head to deepen the kiss. You’re rendered to complete silence, melting into his touch as he takes your breath away. 

When he pulls from you, your lashes flutter.

You’re completely dazed. 

Until he grabs a rock near your foot and chucks it. It smashes into the window of a nearby boutique, glass shattering and all the zombies turn their heads. They snarl at a high pitch, screeching out as flounder towards the noise. Namjoon darts behind them, right out of your grasps.

You’d shout his name if it didn’t mean your own death sentence.

The wait is agonizing. You feel like you’re going to get a heart attack as you watch the door, unsure if he’ll come out. Even if he does, you don’t know if he’ll still be human and the Namjoon that you love. The one that you decided to marry, that you saw on the other end of the aisle and who cried like a dork when he saw you in the dress. 

Those years feel like another world. But they’re still memories you cherish.

The five minutes feels like an hour. You’re cursing, praying, regretting.

But then the buff idiot, your idiot, comes out and runs back to you with a massive grin. Uninjured. With bottles of penicillin, some kind of allergy medicine, and a pregnancy test you grimace at.

You seek refuge at an apartment building on the edge of the city.

It’s an expensive one that was fenced in and boarded up — one of the last to fall to the ruins.

You choose a room on the second floor that’s easy to get into and easy to escape if need be. Unfortunately a zombie lurches out from one of the rooms much to your horror, but Namjoon kills it. He takes his hatchet right into its skull and checks the other rooms before dragging the corpse out when you look nauseous again.

When it’s all over, Namjoon dusts his hands off like it was just some spring cleaning.

“What happens if I really am pregnant?”

You hold the test, motionless, until your head lifts to meet Namjoon’s softened eyes. There’s an overwhelming urge not to take it, to throw the box out the window and keep convincing yourself that it would be impossible to be carrying. But Namjoon risked his life for this.

And you know he won’t let it go. Not until an answer is certain.

“Then we’ll figure it out,” he murmurs gently.

“I can’t give birth on my own, Namjoon.”

“I know.”

“If the baby even makes it that far,” you whisper and he grimaces. But what worries you far more, what’s put you in so much denial, and made you sick with terror is the fact that you know— “I’ll slow you down even more, Namjoon.”

His brows furrow, lips becoming lopsided. “You don’t slow me down.”

“How many times have you almost died trying to save me?! I-I can’t keep up.”

At once, Namjoon engulfs you with his arms. He holds you close, body flush against yours and you press your face into his broad shoulder, smothering your worries for a moment with his soothing comfort.

“I love you,” he sighs against your ear. “No matter what happens, I love you. There wouldn’t be a reason for me to keep living if you weren’t here, Y/N. I’m only trying this hard because you are. You’re my purpose now. You and this baby, if it’s real.”

Your fingers clutch onto his jacket, hanging onto your husband as your anchor. “Shut up,” you mumble against his clothes. “You know I hate it when you talk like this. Like you’re saying goodbye.”

Namjoon smiles faintly, remembering how you made him promise to never say goodbye. “Sorry.”

He lets you go and you turn into the bathroom.

The minutes that follow are excruciating. Maybe you’re just impatient, but you’ve grown to hate waiting. But still, you wait by yourself while kneeling on the cold, tiled floors, staring at the stick you peed on.

It’s faint. And you pray your eyes are wrong. But as the minutes go by, it becomes stronger and stronger in colour.

You leave and Namjoon looks at you expectedly. 

“Well?”

You thrust the stick towards him. Two lines.

[shiversdownyerspine]

13. Affecting

Soon...kisses. Lip locking. SOON.

A couple of weeks pass after the reveal of your 2nd Phase and the acceptance of your request. And during that time the brothers make good on the agreement; they touch you, hands stroking your upper arm in greeting, lazily sweeping up and down your back, or simply resting a warm palm at your lower back when you linger a little too long in one spot.

With each passing day it gets harder and harder not to notice the sensual subtleties, not to mention the kisses don't stop either, lips pressing to cheek and shoulder and temple and forehead.

If you're in the kitchen baking, Axel will often be at your side. Whether sitting at the table or leaning back against the counter with cookbook in hand, you very much appreciate his quiet company and often return the favor when he cooks. The two of you have taken to discussing recipes and one day as you are busy preparing some chocolate croissants, he describes one familiar to him; Pirog, a baked good with savory filling.

The croissants were nearly ready for the oven, all that was left was one final pastry to prepare. Rolling the dough nice and tight to enclose the chocolate within, you muse aloud, "I've never made Pirog before, wonder what sort of filling would be good..."

The eldest brother takes a moment to consider before listing several, but according to him, "Fish is the best choice."

With a straight face you insist beef would be the better option, far more superior. And with little warning his heat was seeping into your back as his hands braced on the kitchen counter, arms either side of your body. Heartbeat quickening and ears reddening, you fumble with the pastry in your hands as he challenges your claim with a playful, "Is that so?"

Understandably a bit flustered, it takes you a second to successfully retort, "It would absolutely taste better, you just don't want to admit it."

Who knows, maybe you can goad Axel into making them.

The lighthearted bickering bounces back and forth until the warmth of his breath ghosts the shell of your ear. You hold strong, determined not to break but the brush of lips to your ear nearly makes you squeal.

The sound of the oven finishing its preheat cycle saves your skin.

Axel lifts the tray as his other hand leaves the curve of the counter to casually stroke up and down your side before he moves from you to pop the pastries in the oven. Immediately your hand is up and rubbing your sensitive ear, cursing the way it tingles. Taking a steadying breath, you still stumble over your own two feet as you go to grab up the mixing bowl and utensils for a good scrubbing.

Oscar sneaks up behind you like always, but he's started tugging you into him. The first few times his arms curl low around your belly and your back meets his chest, you're a bit tongue tied and bashful. But you don't want him to stop and it isn't long before you start leaning back into his hold. It becomes a part of his sneak routine and eventually it's not as startling as it used to be. It still has a high chance of pulling a gasp from you though, which you are highly suspecting he likes.

Sometimes when you're sitting on the sofa reading or watching television, the youngest brother would plop himself down on the carpet next to you. Curious you had considered asking if he wanted to join you on the furniture, but in the end decided not to. You figured if he wanted to, then he would. No need to ruin harmless fun.

And in the name of harmless fun, every now and then you would lightly nudge him with your leg, eyes riveted to your book and unmoving each time Oscar looks at you. It doesn't take long for him to wrap his arm around the offending leg, and satisfied with his capture, he'd lean his head back against the sofa cushion and rest his eyes. You do it again and again until eventually, he just starts automatically wrapping an arm around your leg whenever he sits with you.

Once while feeling mischievous, you had grabbed up a throw pillow as the urge to smack the catnapping man with it grew too tempting. The gentle pressure of a hand squeezing just above your knee had you glancing back with wide eyes to see him very much awake and watching you. The intensity of his gaze, the fixation, brought about this feeling. It was the same one you had when you'd sprayed Axel with the garden hose. You were once again on the verge of biting off more than you could chew.

Innocently you placed the pillow on your lap, using it to prop the book up a little higher. He gave you a suspicious squint before settling back down, leaning in and pressing his mouth to your leg with a smirk. It almost felt like he was daring you to do it, just to see what would happen.

Otto also likes to join you when you're on the sofa. One evening the large man brought out a small sewing kit and one of his shirts. Apparently he's the one that patches up all of their clothes when the need arises. He doesn't like throwing things out when they just need a little care.

Appreciating his resourcefulness, you mention that you'd tried your hand at patching up your own clothes in the past but you didn't quite have the patience for it and gave up fairly quickly. Subsequently, your request to watch actually had little to do with learning the skill and more with wanting to see how dexterous his hands are.

Otto shifts position so you could see better as you scoot in close. He works deftly with needle and thread, your eyes following the practiced motion of his fingers. As he tends to the stitches, he talks. His voice is a pleasant murmur as he explains that his brothers, much like you, haven't much patience for the skill either. They can do a little in a pinch but they wouldn't enjoy it.

You cheekily comment how easy it is to imagine the two; Axel scowling as he focuses on accomplishing the task as quickly as possible, tidy stitching be damned. Or Oscar's frustration growing, fit to burst as he pricks his finger for the umpteenth time. The descriptions tickle his funny bone, his smile growing until teeth glint and eyes crinkle. Shoulder to shoulder and knee to knee, you lean into Otto's side as the conversation eventually lulls into a comfortable silence, his warmth pulling you into a light doze.

Within a few more minutes the holes have been properly mended and the mender rubs his thumb over the line of stitches, content. When the tallest Swede softly calls your name, your response is a mumble, more of a sound than actual words. There's no other movement from you so he takes the chance to press a light kiss to your head, breathing in a whiff of your hair as he lets you nap and considers joining you.

Towards the end of the week as you're making a grocery list for a trip to the market, the Commission finally contacts the Swedes. Tapping the pen against your bottom lip, you and Axel contemplate your list of goods on the table below you, "Milk, eggs, bread..let's see...seasoning! How much black pepper do we have left?"

Axel inspects your spice rack with a critical eye, "...Won't last long, a week at most. Maybe."

The eldest Swede places the pepper back in its place before lifting a little corked jar beside it, "Cinnamon too."

As you are adding the crucial items while Otto alerts you to your pantry's dwindling supply of flour, the unexpected clatter inside your cabinet draws attention. Oscar retrieves the canister, rolling it down the kitchen counter to his brother before walking to you. With a grin he scoots you into Axel as he squeezes in on your other side, pressing his arm at your back to trap you between them.

Cheeks pink you toss a look at Oscar who is busy peering past you at the paper being examined by his older brother...but he isn't too busy to let his hand playfully squeeze your side apparently. Otto joins the three of you as Axel tilts the paper towards you for you to see as well, the message short and to the point. It reveals the usual; the date, the target, the co-ordinates, and the rendezvous point.

"So the access point is...the abandoned bus stop beside the forest? I forgot that little shack was still standing."

Otto nods, "We know it."

You respond, mildly surprised and a touch remorseful, "Oh, Commission dropped you all off down there? If I had known I would have gone out to meet you three when you first arrived."

Axel grunts, "Wasn't a far walk."

Smiling you nudge him with your hip, "Well, I hope it was a pleasant one."

Turning your attention back to your shopping list you reassure the three, "Alright I can finish up with this if you all want to start preparing for your mission, I figure you'd want to get to it. I don't have any deadlines to worry about for my work, but I doubt that's the same for you three."

The youngest Swede pouts, "You don't want to help? With guns?"

And just like that you're on edge, frowning as your body stiffens. Your silence lasts just a little too long.

"...That's..not my area of expertise."

Axel grimaces, peering at you closely, "Never learned? For protection?"

Remembering that the grocery list is in your hands, you restrain yourself from clenching them and crumpling it, "I already have a way to protect myself."

"You want to hide. A gun will give you another way to protect secret."

He has a point. A good point. Regardless you can't imagine holding a gun let alone firing one without your hands shaking like a leaf in a storm. You just can't. So, you try to compromise, "Maybe I could use one in the future. The far, far future."

Glowering at the table, Otto tries to recall a previous conversation. An old memory, a desperate kill..bullets and blood. Ah. You'd been shot, possibly repeatedly? The tallest Swede shares his conclusion, "You're afraid of guns."

With a sigh you shortly acknowledge it, "I have my reasons. Anyway, caring for your firearms is going to have to be solely your responsibility. Sorry to disappoint."

Lifting your grocery list up you consider any missing items you may have forgotten. Something is nipping at the back of your mind, something that had popped into your head after Oscar had gotten chased out into the garden by Otto and the two roughed each other up...Oh! Your eyes drift up to Axel.

"...How often do you three get injured? Or...smack each other around? Actually don't answer that, I'm going to go ahead and add some first aid on here."

You scribble it down, look at the scars on the two older brother's faces, and firmly circle it.

Yeah, that's going to be a priority.

[falcor-thee-luck-dragon]

Hi hi! I saw your post asking for request/inspiration! Maybe Geralt x fem reader, and geralt has to hunt down a monster but the reader as well, so first they try to outsmart the other but eventually they realize they have to work together and they end up falling for each other? ❤️❤️

Bound By Blood - Geralt of Rivia x (f)reader - Part 1

side note- I have no self control and just kept writing so we’re gonna have a pt. 2 soon

Summary: Geralt has learned of a mysterious witch and her supposed vicious familiar, now he must hunt to bring them down for their crimes.

Warning: blood & gore, angst, bit o fluff, some smut sprinkled in the mix

It had been a good couple of weeks since his last kill, or since he had a solid amount of coin that could pay for food and board. So like any Witcher with a freshly sharpened sword and a thirst for coin with a little adventure included, Geralt was on the move, in search of his next monster to slay.

Though by the looks of it, the continent is starting to feel like a much larger place then he remembered, or perhaps he’s out in the wilds a bit further then once previously thought. Either way, the day is bright and the woods are green, although the occasional snowflake floating into his hair and Roach’s for that matter may become an annoyance later on. Guess he’ll just have to see where the road takes him this time.

No sooner would his swimming thoughts of wondrous curiosity be answered after a couple hours of traveling through the now very snow covered forest, where he would happen upon a small gathering of road worn travelers. All of whom appeared to be speaking over a small fire, their horses tied off close by. And most likely, weapons hidden at the ready for odd folk like himself.

Roach’s hooves are almost silent against the powdery white fluff as Geralt makes his way into view of this pack of loyal companions trying to have a meal in the midst of their camp before nightfall. Soon their eyes find Roach and himself, these strangers look on in cautious apprehension, wary and uncertain of what this Witcher’s true intentions are.

Suddenly a young foxy looking boy stands, his thick auburn hair falling in his face as he points a shaky steel knife in the air, “What business you have? We don’t want a fight.” Speaks the boy as confidently as he can muster, though there is a small waver in his voice. The others wait for an answer.

Geralt blinks, face unassuming and as relatively non-threatening as possible, “I’m just passing through, I’m trying to see what beast needs killed over the next hill.”

The boy lowers his knife, “Oh...well, good luck to you then. There’s been a great bear said to be hunting for Nilfgaard soldiers over that way, that’s why we’re headed west instead.”

Before Geralt is able to respond an older woman with a wolf rug over her back steps next to the boy protectively, “Best keep a move on Witcher,” She warns, eyeing him up suspiciously with her pale grey eyes, “said a woman with...unnatural powers commands the beast to kill for her. A witch of the wood it’s said, but that old bastard she has, been killing villagers and travelers alike who venture too far from town.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Mutters Geralt before directing Roach to continue onward with a click of his tongue.

——

They had never seen you coming, and now they’re paying for their lack of scouting with their pathetic little lives. The soldiers of Nilfgaard were said to be the most deadly and dangerous, men who came with fire in their hearts and steel in their hands. They feared nothing and no one, dressed in black armor and growing in numbers from the south everyday was enough to make you feel sick.

They had no right nor proper business claiming and desecrating what wasn’t there’s, how dare they hurt innocent people, they acted like true barbarians. And you would not put up with it any longer, they had burned your home, murdered your mother, and destroyed the rest of your village.

So for their crimes, you decided it was time to do what was necessary for the continents future survival, it was time to hunt. For months have you and your furry companion been here and there eradicating soldier camp after soldier camp with great satisfaction, now finally at long last have you tracked down a group of Nilfgaardians who’ve strayed too far from the main hoard. How unfortunate.

You had waited patiently to ambush them on the main road where they’d been trekking down for the past day and a half, it was too damn easy, all you did was pretend to be a hurt scared maiden in the woods. Then when they attempted to comfort you, your bear burst forth from the underbrush and slaughtered a handful before they even knew what hit them.

Now here you stand, boots in the spattered snow as you look around the blood stained white blanket of earth where a multitude of soldiers lay dead and mutilated. Though one remains with air still in his lungs, you smirk a wicked grin, eyeing up the fallen soldier as he stares wide eyed up at you from his broken body against a tree stump.

Your furry accomplice breaths heavy mountainous breaths close by, though he’s aware enough to know you’ll take care of the last one. And the terrified soldier knows it too as you take more steps closer. He flinches as you crouch down to meet his blood spattered face, “Nu-no, no...do-don’t...”

“Shhh.” You smile, raising a finger to his lips, silencing him instantly.

 He’s shaking now, eyes like a young fearful child’s as he studies your beautiful yet frightening appearance. “I thought all Nilfgaardian soldiers feared nothing, not even death. What a disappointment you all are.”

“We will...ta-take it....a-all...” He whimpers out as you throw him a harsh glare that shuts his bloody mouth.

“Just like I have taken your brothers lives,” You whisper with a sly grin before casually shrugging, “an eye for an eye they say....so don’t be afraid, I have felt the same as you do right now. Helpless, terrified, in pain....but listen...” You look sincerely into his broken gaze, a small smile upon your lips as you rest a comforting hand over his arm, though he knows its anything but comfort. “Nilfgaard and all her subjects can burn in the fiery pits of the underworld for what they’ve chosen to do in these lands. I was on the wrong side of the sword once, now you are, and no magical bear is going to come save you.” Your words are as deadly as poison, like a cobra spitting venom to their prey before the final strike.

His eyes go wide, blood seeping down his cracked lips, “No. No..n-no no! No!” Suddenly you thrust your dagger right through his jugular and right back out again causing a spurt of blood to mark your cheek, standing back you watch as he gasps and sputters, choking on his own blood as it gushes out of him like a waterfall.

“He even dies like a bitch.” You mutter in disgust, cleaning off your sword with your arm before sheathing it once again, now looking over to the beast standing in the snow. Heavy white clouds of hot breath pierce the crisp air as he watches your every move in interest, “Come. Let’s get away from here before someone sees us, we don’t need anymore bloodshed today. Now these fuckers are food for crows.”

The bear growls in agreeance, trailing after you as some hungry black ravens caw from the trees in excitement for their new free meal. No village will burn today.

——

“Oh yes, I saw her command the bear to kill those soldiers just three days ago!”

“That beast took my son last week, kill them Witcher!”

“I’m afraid to visit my cousins in the next town over! You must kill them!”

That had been the comments and ramblings of the townsfolk of the local tavern when he asked who and where this witch and her bear was. Though he didn’t get much of a solid answer by any means, not until an old hunter had eventually directed him to where the most recent cluster of Nilfgaard soldiers had headed.

Stating that if Geralt follows their route, then he would most likely come upon the men’s remains somewhere along the road, and if he was lucky, he’d run into the two killers as well.

Indeed it had taken him about a day or so, but eventually the farther down the trail he got, the fresher the tracks became. Suddenly during his journey did he pass a rider-less horse on its way back towards town, a dark brown smear of some kind splattered across its grey leg. Now this looked quite promising.

Only a small trot up the road did he finally find the brutal remains of the soldiers that had most definitely not made it to wherever they had planned on heading. The snow in particular was disturbed and littered with chunks of men, swords thrown about and shields bent and broken. He could smell blood and piss from the men, most of all he could smell bear and what it had done here, though it was strange too. For a sweeter scent could be recognized on the cool wintery breeze, such a viable contrast to the current state of the environment. 

She still lingers close, thinks the Witcher. Quickly moving to pull out his silver sword from within its sheath. Sensing a new presence among the fallen, he whips around in a dark blur only to be greeted face to face with a beautiful woman.

He stood his ground eyeing your form suspiciously like a lion wondering if his prey will be easy enough to kill, though he wasn’t certain if he truly wanted to kill you at all. You looked rather unassuming and calm, less monsterly and more a simple traveling woman then anything else, such unlike the grisly tall tales that those travelers and townsfolk had gossiped to him about.

Honestly Geralt was beginning to doubt what he had been given coin for, but he would not submit to that thought just yet, he has faced creatures just as alluring as you and found them quite deadly enough.

Keeping his silver placed firmly at his side, though still tightly grasped in his strong hand, his golden eyes trail over you cautiously, “You do this?” He wonders, coming out more of an accusatory statement as he glances at the bloody array of dead Nilfgaardian soldiers gutted about on the soft white snow.

Your breaths are steady though you feel more annoyed by his random intrusion then anything else, you only came back here to take their weapons to give to the villagers, “I have no quarrel with you, Witcher.” Your voice is truthful and fierce, not an ounce of nervousness radiating off of your tongue. As far as you’re concerned this man is nothing but an inconvenience.

He keeps a stoic face, not revealing much but a tinge of amusement in his shimmering eyes, “Strange then. I’ve been given coin to kill a dangerous sorceress and her enchanted bear. Fitting your description exactly, and here we are. Among the dead soldiers you’ve been claimed to murder.”

Scoffing you curtly fold your arms over your chest, “I hardly see a problem here when these fuckers have slaughtered countless innocents! They’re marching for the north and I do not doubt they’ll get it if people like me don’t try and lessen their numbers.”

He looks to the ground then back up to you, letting out a low frustrated sigh, “Your beast has killed villagers. Innocents.” His words are almost a slap in the face, but you know those people only got in the way of taking down these soldiers.

“Yes.” You nod, watching as he studies your face, “And it is a tragedy that I am greatly sorry for...but my companion is still an animal with his own will even when I give him a task. A bear is a bear, Witcher.”

He hums, “I understand that. But I cannot let you kill anyone else.”

Taking a single step back you quickly unfold your arms, alerting the Witcher to raise his sword though you show no intention of fighting him. His grey brows furrow as you shake your head, “You’re better off leaving us be. Those soldiers deserved what they got coming to them, and the people of this continent will thank us in due time. For they do not know the wrath and ruin that Nilfgaard is capable of.”

He watches as you take a couple more steps backwards towards the pine trees, your face serious and unflinching even when he takes a few steps towards you. “I kill monsters, witch. You’re no different.”

Now this does anger you, for that your eyes almost appear to darken with rage, your posture taller as you stare him down, “You are nothing but a blind fool who cannot see the bigger picture! So I won’t feel very bad about this..”

“About what?”

He watches as you take a step to the side, ignoring him when suddenly without warning does a ginormous brown bear charge from out of the evergreens, teeth and claws at the ready as they swing for his throat.

Geralt just barely dodges the huge furry bastard when a blundering paw races down for his arm, he twists away and out of the bears reach though his sword does catch the thick black pad of the bears left paw. It roars in pain, face a mask of rage as it turns towards Geralt with lighting reflexes.

Suddenly the bear swings a heavy paw directly into Geralt’s leather armored chest, knocking the wind out of him while also managing to thrust him blindly into a thick oak tree. All that the Witcher can glimpse before slipping into blissful unconsciousness is the wounded beast retreating into the woods while your silhouetted form begins walking towards him.

Then darkness.

——

When Geralt comes to he’s distressed to find his armor gone and his torso bare except for a thick white bandage wrapped around his shoulder and chest where the bear swatted at him with its large paw. The fabric is oddly soft, though a slight pink uneven line has seeped out now visible across his breasts, no doubt the area where that bear had gotten him. 

His big golden irises blink hard, focusing better now to unexpectedly find your smirking face as you walk into view, “Have a pleasant rest?” You muse, sitting down in a soft cushioned chair at his bedside, “My old friend gave you a run for your coin huh?”

Well this is odd, he thinks.

His brows furrow even deeper, though his chest hurts too much to attempt an escape, “I would have imagined you were going to kill me. I don’t understand...”

Chuckling lightly you smile, “Remember Witcher, I have no quarrel with you. Just those fucking soldiers....and don’t worry, my companion will not bring you any more harm unless I see to it.”

“Well...uh...I guess that’s good then.” Mutters the Witcher, begrudgingly scooting himself up so that he may rest against the wooden headboard and have a better view of the small room, “Where exactly are we?”

Looking around the cozy cabin you’ve decided to inhabit for the time being, your eyes finally rest back on the curious silver haired man, “Somewhere that was once vacant and now is livable. That is all I will say, and all that matters to you now....so, my pursuer who’d see me dead if not for my cleverness. If you are going to be in my care for however long it takes you to heal, what is your name?” You watch as the Witcher purses his lips together, pausing for a moment to think if he should tell you, “Geralt. Geralt of Rivia.” He reveals in that titular gruff voice of his that’s honestly starting to grow on you even in the brief time you’ve known him.

Handing him a small smile of acknowledgement, you nod, “And I am Y/N of Stygga in the land of Ebbing which is north of Nilfgaard...so, Geralt of Rivia....what brings you to Thurn of all places and into my care? Besides the fact that my companion almost ended your pretty life.” You end with a wiggle of your brow.

“Coin.” He mutters humorously, so he is not just a man of silent beautifully chiseled stone after all.

You hum, “Simple and straight to the point, are all Witcher’s as intriguing as you are?”

Geralt blinks slowly, deciding to rest his head against the wood as he looks forward, “Perhaps only the ones who want to survive.”

Laughing you lean back in your seat, “Flattery and humor may yet keep you alive then. But you are mistaken with me, I do not intend to keep you as a prisoner in any way if that’s what you are meaning. You are free to go back to wherever you came from or to wherever you’re going....as I said, I have no quarrel with you. Witcher.” You speak his name with a bit of attitude considering he did originally come to kill you, nonetheless you quite enjoy his presence.

The look he gives you is enough to make you chuckle once more, then his eyes glance back to you, causing your laughter to die down, though he’s surprised that your smile has prevailed. “Then why have you kept me alive when you could have ended me just as quickly?” He wonders.

You shrug, “The world is scarce of such creatures like yourself, Witcher’s hmm...monster hunters. Others will need you, and this world is big after all and full of terrible things.” You add, hugging your cloak tighter as you tilt your head at him, “so I’d assume after you heal up you’ll leave me and my companion be as long as I agree to keep away from towns. Yes.”

“Hmm.” He utters, brows furrowed as he thinks over your offer. 

The Witcher keeps silent as his face shifts into deep thought, huffing you roll your eyes, “Geralt are free to leave if you so choose. I give you my word if you give me yours.”

“Which is?”

“You let me and my familiar leave in peace and we let you live.”

He studies your face for a moment, trying to find any signs of falseness though he fails to spot it, “Fine.” Grumbles the handsome silver haired man.

You smile in accomplishment before a slightly awkward silence fills the room, deciding to break the tension you tap the arm of your chair, “Are you going to leave then? Right now?”

He keeps silent for some time as you patiently await his answer until finally he looks into your eyes, “No.”

“Huh.” You slowly nod, not quite expecting that answer, “...are you thirsty then? You were out for some time.”

“Yes.” Answers Geralt, simple and straight to the point.

Smiling you nod, standing now to fetch your new friend some water from outside, once you return with a metal cup do you hand him the cold liquid, his warm hand just barley touching yours. Sending shivers down your spine that you didn’t know was possible as you go back to sit next to him. “Those wounds should heal soon enough, I’ve heard Witcher’s heal fast. Is there any truth to that?”

His golden eyes trail over to you, not a hint of annoyance in the way that he looks to you now, “It would seem so. Hopefully I never have another run in with your friend anytime soon. Though I wouldn’t mind running into you again, hopefully under less bloody circumstances.” Admits Geralt with the ghost of a smile.

You chuckle, “As would I.”

——

In the following days would you and Geralt find comfort in one another’s presence as you helped him heal from his wounds. This Witcher had told you numerous stories about his adventures all over the continent and what beasts have been slain by his hand and sharp silver.

They were undoubtedly fascinating though surprisingly full of such vigor and even respect for the ones he’s been given coin to kill. It was pleasant when he spoke of all those who he had prevented from meeting an untimely and violent end from said monsters.

Even more so bewildering to you was how invested and intrigued you had become with each passing day, you actually woke up excited to see someone, to hear their voice and have them ask how your morning was.

Unbeknownst to you, Geralt had healed two days ago but had come to the fascinating conclusion that he was in-fact enjoying your company more then first realized. He loves listening to you boast about all the clever tricks you’ve pulled on the Nilfgaardians and how you’ve kept them away from the villagers who would most like want nothing to do with them.

Maybe it is the palpable truth that he has been indeed a bit lonely, or maybe it’s just that you tell the best stories and are unlike anyone he’s ever met before. But Geralt has begun to grow a deep fondness for you that cannot be fully explained by himself no matter how hard he may try.

Though at first he found you beautiful enough, that wasn’t a large concern considering he was there to kill you. Then once all was revealed he decided you really aren’t as evil and malevolent as what was spoken to him by the townsfolk.

Now, he has seen you, heard your voice and been given a kindness that he knows is something he shouldn’t deserve. But he cannot fully know if you share the same growing feelings, why would you? He came to kill, he came to end your beautiful life and for what, gold? No, you mean something now, you are someone to him now, a person that he can’t help but care for. And maybe even love, that is if he knew what that truly felt like, is this it?

But what of you?

You’d be a filthy liar if you said this Witcher didn’t tug at your heart strings like he does so freely without even knowing it. He has wonderfully taken you off guard with his hidden tenderness and rough voice that you’ve decided is one of the most alluring sounds you’ve ever heard.

His eyes catch in the light like two shimmering golden coins, the way he asks you for a drink or a piece of bread sends electricity through you. How pathetic, you think, however it is rather nice. And most of all, his body is truly something else, you’ve never seen a man so toned and full of scars. How lucky you were to take his shirt off and keep his wounds from bleeding out, and in those hours after, he looked rather peaceful as he slept.

If only you could have joined him, felt his touch, been the one who he wanted more then the bread you’ve given him. But he is just a Witcher, he will leave and life will presume as it had been before either of you had met. He’ll become just another lost tragedy of your past, another loved one gone, never to be seen again.

He is just a Witcher you fool.

You frown now, your gaze focused on the small hearth as you sit by the fire, poking it with a metal stick as your thoughts drift to better days long gone, taken so suddenly and without so much as a sorry from who did it.

“Y/N.”

Your eyes stare vacantly into the beautifully glowing embers, you hear nothing but the sparks of flame crackling on wood.

“Y/N.”

A whisper perhaps, you can’t tell, you’re so lost into your own head at this point nothing but the fire matters to you.

Without warning a gentle hand is placed on your shoulder causing you to jump and drop the metal stick onto the stone fireplace with a loud clatter. Your eyes dart for the one who touches you as your heart beats heavily inside your chest.

Instead of a petty thief come to slay you, is the soft comforting eyes of Geralt, “Forgive me, I didn’t mean to startle you.” Apologizes the Witcher as he sits down next to you, offering half of his huge warm blanket.

You oblige without a second thought and let him drape it over your back while he then scoots closer so that your crossed knee is touching his. You give him the flash of a sad smile before drifting your dreary gaze back to the glowing hearth.

“Thank you for sharing, winter is cold after all and this cabin isn’t the most insulated of places.” You add, a low drone in your voice much unlike your usual lively self that he’s grown to love.

Furrowing his grey brows, Geralt studies your half illuminated face in the firelight, the only real source of light since the sun has gone down hours ago. “I figured you needed the company, and a blanket. I can almost of see my breath.” He says with a small chuckle though you barley acknowledge his very presence.

“Y/N?” He whispers, nudging your leg with his, “I haven’t spoken of it before but if I may ask, what happened to your hand?”

You look down to your left hand opposite of where Geralt is sitting, you hide it from the light though it is covered with a white cloth and your long sleeves. He is very observant isn’t he?

“Nothing important. I got it when fighting those damn soldiers before I saw you. It’s almost all healed up.” You whisper, “No need to think about it anymore.”

The room stays silent for another couple minutes before he finally speaks once again in that low gruff voice of his, “What troubles you?” He asks much to your surprise, maybe he is too observant for his own good.

“Many things.” You mutter quietly, turning your face to find his concerned gaze, a small smile on your lips to lessen his doubts, “Don’t worry my dear Witcher, you’re not one of them. And I’d rather not give you my burdens, they are not a fun little adventure like the ones you’ve told me about.”

“Neither are all of mine.” He speaks truthfully, staring deep into your saddened eyes, “I would be honored to comfort you of such miseries if you still want me near after.”

You look to the floor, biting your lip at this almost intimate news even if he only means to speak words of ease to you. Why not? What is there to lose if you tell him why you feel so full of melancholy.

Raising your eyes back up to his, you take a deep heavy sigh before looking back into the fire, “I had a good life. I really did, I had a mother and a brother. But that was all taken from me when those bastards plundered and beat their way into my peoples lands. Looting and killing as they went, what could I do huh...my family was in their way.” You admit with a hidden rage that just about causes the flames to glow brighter.

“They came into our village and began to burn everything they could, they ran into houses and stole away valuables untouched by the desolation yet. They took and killed my neighbors and friends, women and children, screaming infants.”

You pause for a moment, eyes welled up with unshed tears as you find your voice, “They burst through our door and pulled us three from our house before we could even react. Then those fuckers killed the only person who ever showed me true kindness and love, she didn’t deserve to die that way Geralt, she didn’t. Then again none of them did.”

“I can’t imagine.” Whispers Geralt sincerely, understanding how much it pains you to speak of your mother like this.

��For that,” You seethe out darkly, “I killed my first soldier that day, but of course they didn’t like that, not at all. Soon they held me down and beat me bloody like I was a fucking dog, if it wasn’t for my brother who stopped them. I’d be dead, he saved my life that day, helped me escape and I never looked back.” You swallow thickly as a lone tear slides down your cheek, “I haven’t seen him since, and I dare not think of how he met his end. It just fills me with rage and then...as you can see, I get like this.”

“Best not to linger in the darkness for too long.” Admits Geralt, his eyes truthful and honest as he takes you all in, “I wouldn’t want to lose you.”

Breaking out into a crooked smile you blink more tears away as he moves an inch closer, “I already feel gone some days. I’m not a good person Geralt, I’m dangerous.” Your voice his raspy and soft now as the feel of the room appears to take a shift somewhere you’re not so sure of. Dangerous? Y/N he has no idea.

The Witcher’s lips curl into a pleasant smile as his face keeps mere inches from your own, “I like dangerous.” Whispers Geralt before his plush lips pull you into a new world of warmth and fire. He moves against your mouth, taking his time as the two of you find a comfortable rhythm. Well, this is nice.

He tastes as sweet as the apples you gave him for dinner and all the better to draw you away from your darkness as he showers you in his intoxicating light. You can’t believe how gentle and passionate he feels against you now and it’s only his lips!

You could stay like this forever but soon enough he pulls away, resting a calloused hand against your knee, “Forgive me I should have asked.”

“Don’t be a fool, I was thinking it too. And anyways you kept your word.”

“Did I?” Wonders Geralt, brows furrowed in confusion.

You smirk, “Remember? You said you’d comfort me of my miseries? Are you still planning on doing that...just a simple question really you don’t have to look so lost.”

Breaking out of his frumpled gaze he finally gives you a handsome smile, “How could I forget?”

“Well it was pretty traumatic so.” You deadpan with a dark humored snort before Geralt leans in to capture your lips once more.

The next morning you wake from the warm comfort of the cabins large single bed, an equally as warm arm covering half your face as you feel a large body pressed firmly against your side. Your hair lays free and unkept around your face as well, and you already know your naked underneath this soft blanket and snoozing man next to you.

His breaths are slow as he stirs in his slumber, pulling you in even closer as his arm now finds itself against your one free breast. You giggle quietly at the situation, how awkward it would be if someone was to burst forth from those doors and find you both in the nude like this. Ha, let them try.

Apparently you’re not as subtle as you’d thought, Geralt awakens before sucking in a deep breath as he stirs slightly, suddenly freezing in place once he realizes his hand is practically squeezing your boob.

You chuckle, moving your hand to keep it there, “You’re surprisingly a cuddlier, who would have thought?” You jest humorously.

“Uh....yes.” Mutters Geralt awkwardly as you smile, though he can’t see it.

Noticing his change of behavior you realize he doesn’t really know what to do about your boldness so you help him out by shifting yourself to face him. “With how well you were treating me last night I would have thought my breast would feel quite nice in your hand. Have I misinterpreted?”

He smiles, a small dusting of pink finding its way onto his chiseled features, “I find it important to respect you first Y/N, this is still...new.”

Biting your lip you lean in close to place a gentle kiss against his soft lips, “I enjoy your touch, you’re something that I believe I’ve been missing for a long while. Maybe we were meant to find each other and you not kill me.”

He chuckles a sweet sound that fills you with pure joy, “And you to heal me, I don’t feel much pain anymore.”

You smirk, rolling your eyes as you graze your hand down his face and arm, “I healed you enough about six days ago, I know you were just milking it since.”

“No I wasn’t...”

“Oh shut it, I think it was a clever idea to get in my pants if that was your plan.”

He fake scoffs, “That wasn’t the plan Y/N.”

“Then what was the plan? Oh wait,” You move yourself even closer to him, lips just barely touching, “Witcher’s don’t have plans, they just flatter and hope for the best.”

His strong arm holds you close as you rest your hand on his shoulder, “Maybe so.” Whispers Geralt before pressing his lips to yours.

Soon enough you find yourself pinned down to the bed, a very hot and visibly happy Geralt deep inside you as you try and keep yourself from screaming to loud. You can’t help how big and beautiful and so very large he is, and anyways he looks like a man on the edge of paradise. Who are you to deprive your new lover of his high?

Geralt does admittedly feel blessed against you if you’re being completely honest, the way he thrusts deeply into your womanhood like a man deprived of such pleasantries, or maybe the way your name falls onto his sweet lips when he feels his weakest. You can’t tell for sure, but he may be in love with just as much as you are with him and that is a promising thought. Or is it?

With an almost whiny moan do you finally come, the pleasure built up after such a ride releasing at long last. Sending a wave of euphoria throughout your entire vessel causing your slick walls to clench around Geralt’s hard cock as he continues to relentlessly pump into you.

Soon you can feel a hot warmness pooling into you as your Witcher grunts in satisfaction while his length twitches inside you, painting your walls with his seed like the skilled artist that he is.

Hovering just above your sweaty and very naked form does he smile kindly before leaning down to capture your swollen lips with his own. He bucks his hips into you a couple times more as he enjoys the feeling of making you squirm underneath him. Completely surrendering all that you are to him, though he’d be lying if he said that he wasn’t doing the same with you.

Laying flush against you, his body still between your sore legs he pulls away from your pouting lips to lean his arms against your face. Soon another kiss is stolen, then another and another as he gently presses his lips to your cheek. Then jaw, where he decides to stay and attack for awhile which causes you to chuckle at his adorable-ness. 

“You need new clothes.” You practically moan as he playfully bites your jaw, kissing that spot just as quickly.

“It’s warm in here.” Mutters Geralt against your hot skin, “Nothing is as interesting as you.”

You bite back another moan, “We need food.”

He smirks against your neck, rolling his hips to try and sway your mind, “But you’re delicious enough Y/N.” Oh this man.

Breathing heavily you do your best to fight off your growing arousal, “Geralt.” You warn through clenched teeth, hands leaving red marks down his back as you playfully threaten him.

He kisses your cheek once more as a sly hand squeezes your firm breast, “Fine. Let me make love to you first then we can go.” States Geralt against your lips as he suddenly gives you three deep slow thrusts that send you into another realm of pleasure.

[dashedwithromance]

Secret Moments In A Crowded Room - Princewitch

okay so DISCLAIMER im scared to post this because we’ve never really seen romantic wrath before so idk if people might think this is OOC but i wanted princewitch fluff desperately and cant wait til october. inspired by the teaser quote she released yesterday and ‘dress’ by taylor swift

-

The ball raged on around her, dancers swirling around impossibly fast, flashes of fabric catching the light of the serpent scones. On and on, all without her. Her husband sat to her right on his larger throne, staring into nothing. They had exchanged all of five words that evening.

She did not blame her husband for his coldness, not truly. If their positions were switched, and she had been forced to marry a random demon while still loving and grieving her murdered spouse, she doubted whether she would even manage civility. Pride continued his business, barely taking notice of his young wife, and she was glad, of that, at least. If he’d wanted her... a shudder snaked down her spine, curling in her gut. Her mind still echoed with the unnatural violation of Lust’s magic, and the thought of another demon prince perusing her like that was foul. There was only one prince she wanted, and his sin was wrath.

Dancing in Hell was nothing like she’d seen on the streets of Palermo. Nothing like the carefree dancing of Vittoria, so full of light and life and love that nothing seemed to touch her. Here, movements entwined with danger, every dance a flirtation with living death. People danced with weapons, exchanging daggers and rondels and rapiers like secret lovers. Jewelled garrottes hung around every neck, poisonous pearls glittering in various ornate hairstyles. An unholy masquerade indeed.

Her own mask was a fine decoration of gold and jewels. Metallic serpents entwined across the mosaic-like surface, darker cracks embedded across it. The mask had arrived one evening at her rooms, wrapped in luscious velvet. No letter accompanied it, the only sign of the sender being a golden snake that slithered up her arm before dissolving into sparks. The decoration matched her dress, a similar mosaic of black silk, lace, and golden serpents. Truly befitting a queen.

Fury burned through her as she watched the revellers pass her by. They danced without a care, members of the seven houses intermingling freely. She wanted to scream and shatter the very throne she sat on. How dare they dance as if mere months ago, one of their own had not been taking the hearts of witches? As if she did not sit on a dead witch’s throne? A witch who still had not found justice, who’s body had been ripped to shreds in the cruellest way imaginable?

“Careful, little queen.” Pride’s voice rumbled in her ear. He still did not look at her, but leaned closer to whisper, “Lest the people learn your ungrateful thoughts.”

Closing her eyes to avoid murdering the demon she’d married, she took a deep breath. The air smelt like fire and spirits and the sweat of colliding bodies. Suddenly, the sight of it all disgusted her. The dancing, the drinking, the living, all of it. Selfish, she knew – others were allowed to live despite Vittoria being denied the very same. But she couldn’t help it. She longed for nothing more than her sister to live, even if it meant sacrificing her life to the demon beside her. There was nothing to be done, however. Her sister was lost forever.

The night dwindled on, interrupted by the occasional violent thought towards her situation. Though, as contrary as it sounded, not all was dark about her time in Hell. She had one bright spot, one flame in the dark. Something she kept locked against her chest for fear of discovery.

Casting her eye across the room, she caught the gaze of the hidden secret. Prince Wrath leaned against the wall from across the room, his eyes flickering as they locked with hers. He was dressed in a sinfully beautiful suit, a pattern of golden serpents slithering up the fabric from the floor. The snakes seemed alive in the firelight. Perhaps they were. A smug sense of satisfaction ebbed through her when she realised they matched. No one else would notice – serpents weren’t exactly an uncommon motif in Hell – but they knew, and it was comfort enough. With a movement, so small she nearly missed it, he tilted his head towards the exit.

A thrill raced through her, paired with genuine, loving excitement. They had not been alone in much too long.

Things had not always been so relaxed between her and the prince of Wrath. Her first few weeks in Hell had been spent furiously glaring in his direction. He’d given her the ultimate cold shoulder until she’d nearly burned from it. She’d been full of fury at his leaving her – at the humiliation she felt from having the human audacity to trust a demon. One day, when they crossed each other in a hallway heading to court, her temper had bubbled to boiling.

She remembered yanking him into a nearby room – he let her, she realised now – and yelled at him for the cruelty of leaving her alone. Of giving her hope and wrenching it away, like a child suddenly filled with jealously over a shared toy.

The sheer incredulity on his face was the first indication she was mistaken. He laughed, a sardonic sound coated in disbelief.

“I left you?” His voice was low. The walls around them seemed to thrum in response to his deadly power.

“I left you?” He repeated, “I gave you all the tools to summon me, witch, and you refused. Too good for my help, perhaps.  I have no more responsibilities to you. Our deal is done.”

Wrath turned to leave, but by some miracle, she managed to dart in front of him. Her body was pressed against the door, the cold stone mixing with the heat she felt roaring off him. Emilia should’ve been afraid, should’ve been trembling in her gifted boots at the sight of him, but she wasn’t. Why, she couldn’t quite tell.

His gaze burned into hers, but her own was just as powerful.

“I tried everything to summon you after what Envy did, and you didn’t come.” She hissed. The wrath of a prince was one thing, but hell hath no fury like a witch scorned. “You left me. I was foolish enough to believe you would ca- that you would come for me once, but I will not be fooled twice.”

The look he gave her was indiscernible. Equal parts rage mixed with... something lighter. If anyone else looked at her like that, she would’ve described it as hopeful. But demons did not hope, no more than they loved.

He was scanning her face with the focus of a battle-hardened warrior. Whatever it was he found made him take a step back.

“What did you do wrong?” He muttered, almost to himself.

“I did nothing wrong,” She couldn’t help but fire back, “I did everything correctly – even used the ring you left for me in the drawer.”

At that, he stilled. Stilled and stopped breathing entirely.

Then, as if talking to someone who’d sustained a head injury, he said, “I didn’t leave you a ring. I left you my house seal, solid gold, of course, but no ring.” He went on to describe where he’d left it – the top drawer beside her bed – but she already knew.

The conclusion settled in her stomach like a stone. Another feeling, one she didn’t let herself scrutinise, unfurled within her.

“Someone didn’t want me to summon you.”

“Close. Someone wanted you to think I wouldn’t come.”

A question hung in the air, so loud neither could bring themselves to give it voice.

Would you have come, Prince Wrath? Would you have come to my aid when I needed you most? When I needed to know you were alright?

Keeping those treacherous thoughts under lock and key, she focused on another facet of the curious mystery.

“Who would it benefit? And who would’ve known what to switch – the house was warded, was it not?”

Silence from her princely counterpart.  

“Would the wards collapse with your ‘death’?”

The look on his face told her all she needed to know. Someone had stolen into the house and replaced the seal with a ring to deliberately throw off their efforts. Which meant-

He hadn’t abandoned her at all. Given her the cold shoulder, yes, when he believed she’d forgotten all about him.

What a hellish mess this all was.

From that moment on, the demon and the witch had become begrudging allies once more. Wrath had been furious one of his brothers would dare interfere with his affairs, and she needed an ally, desperately. While it rubbed against her pride to accept help, she knew it would’ve been foolish to refuse. She would be a vengeful queen, but even queens needed council.

Their alliance had turned to friendship, then burst into royal flames as they look the leap to lovers. In the candlelight of a stolen moment, Wrath had held her with more care than she’d known possible. Still Wrath, still echoing that immense power of his, but softer, somehow. Not gentle, not truly, but tender. It was not love, but it was fire and anger and care all pieced together in a ball of desire.  

Which led her to that moment, as she stole away from her husband’s masquerade ball. She had stayed long enough, and the party celebrated nothing of importance. Rather a show of unity between her and Pride, a display of wealth and power.

As she left the throne room she realised she had no idea where her prince had gone. Back to his rooms? No, they avoided meeting there. Being caught together in casual rooms could be explained away as strategic briefings, but being caught in the bedroom of her husband’s brother... did not leave for much escape room.

Just as she was about to curse his name, a snake slithered around her ankle, causing her to start. Was that Wrath’s laugh, she heard? Looking to her feet, the snake stared back up at her, its golden eyes winking in the candlelight of the hallway.

Of course. Wrath and his dramatics.  

The snake made its way down the hallway, keeping close to the wall to be inconspicuous. It led her to an offshoot of the main hallway, then came to a halt at the final door. The serpent dissolved into golden sparks as they reached their destination. She knocked quietly before letting herself in.

Wrath lay stretched out across a dark velvet lounge, watching her entrance. His mask dangled lazily from his fingers, the ribbon used to tie it brushing across the floor. His shirt was unbuttoned halfway, a toned chest peeking out from the fabric.

Deadly, dangerously beautiful.

And hers.

“You look exquisite,” He strode across the room before taking her in his arms. His hands quickly untied her mask before tossing it to the floor with haste. He took in her form for a moment, then tilted his face down to capture her lips with his own.

No matter how many moments they stole, it was never enough.

His kiss was liquid fire igniting the flame of her desire. One hand rested against her back, with the other cupping her face. She gasped against his mouth, revelling in how desperately hard his body felt against hers. Greedy hands slipped up his chest to unbutton the rest of his shirt. Pulling the material away, Emilia broke the kiss for a single second to gaze at her lover.

Smooth, tanned skin met her eyes, followed by a swift appreciation of the hard strength that lay beneath his trousers. He laughed as he caught her gaze, knowing exactly what she was admiring.

He kissed her again, this time grabbing the backs of her thighs and lifting her up. Her legs wrapped around his waist. The taste of him- Taste was her speciality, but there were no words to describe how perfectly Wrath kissed her.

After too long and never long enough, the lovers parted for breath. He still held her against his chest. In this position, she was the perfect height to rest her head in the crook of his neck. Their breathing echoed through the room in perfect harmony.

She could feel every rise and fall of his powerful, tattooed chest. Such lethal power contained within his body, yet he held her with all the tenderness the world could offer.

“You know,” He mused, “We never got to dance.”

“Are you asking?” A sly smile in his direction.

“Yes. Witch, will you dance with me.” He said witch the way men said love. She looked down at him, grinning.

“No. I can’t dance.”

He laughed. Such a bright sound for one bathed in darkness.

“Liar.”

“Fine. I don’t dance, because I’m awful at it.”

A teasing hand ran down her back.

“I’ll teach you.” At her raised brows, he continued with, “A queen must use every skill in her arsenal.”

Lowering her to the ground, he held out his hands for her to grasp.

“Place your right hand in mine, and left against my shoulder.” Even through the fabric of his shirt, she could feel the heat roaring off him. When she did as he instructed, he pulled their bodies together until not even an inch separated them. Emilia was fairly certain this wasn’t part of the dance, but she wasn’t going to interrupt. She quite liked this position, pressed against the prince of Wrath, his breath rustling her hair. His hand settled against her spine.

“This next bit is the most important, do you hear? It is crucial even that beginners like yourself get this right.” He teased, and she scowled back at him, though they both knew it was merely in jest.

“Tilt your chin up so you can gaze adoringly into my eyes.” He grinned down her scowl. “I want you to focus on how handsome I am, how talented, and forget everything else. Except how much you want to kiss me.”

She couldn’t help herself, she laughed. “You’re incorrigible.”

“Perhaps.” His voice turned low and seductive as his hand slid down her spine, drawing her a little closer. “But you’re waltzing like a goddess now.” As he spoke, they started to move. Slowly, he stepped back and followed. To the side, and she followed again. On and on, their little box pattern continued, until Wrath picked up the paced and spun her around.

A gasp left her lips at the movement, but before she could overthink and stumble, he caught her once more with a smile.

“Who are you, and what have you done with the moodiest prince of Hell?”

He shook his head at her words, huffing a laugh as he did. She felt the truth bloom in his chest, he didn’t have to say it. These borrowed moments, these secret trysts... it was happiness, rare as it was, that fluttered between them. They both knew it couldn’t last, but for now, it was real. In that moment, it was all that mattered.

“Teasing witch,” He murmured, and kissed her. Kissed her as if they were not members of two rival houses, as if she was not an unwilling wife to his bastardly brother, as if there were not a chasm of reasons to keep them apart. Tomorrow would bring hellfire, and perhaps regret, but tonight was theirs.

They kissed until night dwindled away into day, and their secret was no longer safe. With the promise of “soon” and an unspoken “I miss you”, Wrath kissed her once more before exiting her side.

The queen of Hell picked up her mask from where it had been tossed across the floor, and stood still for a moment, taking a deep breath. The moment had passed, and she was no longer just Emilia, a powerhouse in her own right, and friend and lover of Wrath’s.

She was the Wicked Kingdom’s vengeful queen, and she would find her happiness once more, or burn the world trying.

-

let me know if you wanted to be added to my KOTW tag list!

tags: @shadowturtlesstuff @otome-azarada @chococannolii @beccalovesbooksstuff @duchess-of-nothing-and-nowhere @caseyannblog @constantwriter85 @fleawithadegree @athousandsilversuns @emiliadicarlos @silversublime @watch-the-pen @sleeping-and-books @demirunner

[paigenotblank]

On the Side of Kisses

Pairing: Harry Potter x Draco Malfoy Rating: General Note: So new fandom and first Drarry fic. Also, the first writing I've been able to do in nearly a year. The pandemic was not kind to my muse. I did want to thank @gallifrey1sburning who posted something last year that I clicked on just for the hell of it and it dragged me into a ship that I didn't even realize existed prior and hasn't let me go yet. I have been enjoying reading all the Drarry and hope to contribute at least a little more.

Read on AO3

---

“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”

Draco felt his belly swoop and his heart race, as it had each time he’d heard the childish chant this afternoon.

For the last few weeks, since Teddy had been invited to be the ring bearer at the Granger-Weasley wedding, he would yell out at random times for whomever was in the room to kiss his cheek. Normally it wasn’t an issue. Draco loved his little cousin, he’d adored getting to know him after Narcissa and Andromeda had reconciled after the war, and had no qualms about showing him affection. But today Teddy’s godfather had joined them for lunch.

Harry Potter.

Harry Potter - the Boy Who Lived; the boy Draco had been obsessed with since he was 11; the boy he’d secretly loved since he was 13; the boy who’d grown into the man that made Draco wish he were anyone other than Draco Malfoy, son of Lucius, former Death Eater, and persona non grata in Wizarding Britain.

His relationship with Potter was long and complicated. The years during which Draco had tormented and pitted himself against the Chosen One yawned in what should have been an unbridgeable chasm. Would have been if it were Draco who’d been the one maligned. But no, Potter - stupid, kind, too good for this world - the ridiculous Gryffyndor had decided to testify on behalf of Draco and his family. It left Draco unsteady. Unsure. Off-balance.

It left Draco to hope.

Hope was dangerous for a person like Draco. It made him think that one day he could escape the misdeeds of his youth and have not only contentment - contentment with his potions apprenticeship and with the friends that still spoke to him - but maybe more. That maybe one day he’d be able to find love and forgiveness and acceptance. Because if Harry Potter, the Savior of the Wizarding World, could find it in him to return Draco’s wand and with it extend his hand in...if not quite friendship, then the first tendrils of, and maybe there was hope for Draco yet.

Hope.

When Teddy just this morning had stopped asking only the person nearest to him for kisses and instead insisted that he had two cheeks and thus two people could kiss him at the same time, well that had continuously brought Potter a little too close for Draco’s comfort. Draco didn’t need to know just how good Potter smelled - woodsy like midnight escapades through the forbidden forest, fresh like the wind that races across the Scottish Highlands, a hint of leather reminiscent of snitches and simpler times. He could have died happy in his bed without knowing exactly what he was missing, because extended olive branch or not, Draco wasn’t foolish enough to think he had a chance with Witch Weekly’s Most Eligible Bachelor...three years running.

“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss! Cousin Draco, Uncle Harry, you hafta kiss me!”

With a wink at Teddy and a grin tugging at his lips, Harry dutifully dipped his head toward the bouncing three and half year old.

Teddy whined, “Cousin Draco!”

Draco held his breath, as he’d been wont to do anytime he’d come within sniffing distance of Potter, and leaned in on the other side of young Edward.

“One! Two! Three! Kiss!”

Closing his eyes, Draco pressed forward in resignation.

Expecting the baby soft skin of his cousin, but finding instead the firm lips of a man, Draco couldn’t help his gasp. Harry, never one to squander an opportunity, deepened the kiss.

Fire raced through Draco blood and his mind exploded in pure bliss.

He’d never let himself dare to imagine what it might be like to partake in such a moment with his longtime crush, but even if he had it would never have compared to the reality of it. Harry’s fingers brushing through the hairs at Draco’s nape while his thumb softly caressed his jaw. The swirl of Harry’s tongue as it sought out his own. The moan of satisfaction from Harry as Draco kissed back.

High pitched giggling brought them out of the daze of pleasure they’d been wrapped in.

At Harry’s crooked grin, Draco blushed hotly.

Teddy scampered across the room looking for his next distraction.

“I…I-”

Harry trailed his fingers down Draco’s neck. “Thank Merlin that worked. Was afraid you might hex me.”

“What? Why would I...”

“I got the idea at Ron and Hermoine’s wedding after explaining to Teddy why they would kiss when people clinked their glasses.”

“When they...what?”

“It’s a muggle thing. Not important. Anyway, Teddy and I came up with this plan to get you to kiss me.”

“You planned this?”

Harry lowered his gaze and nodded.

“You...you wanted to kiss me?”

Draco narrowed his eyes at Harry’s snort. “I’ve only been dropping hints that I was interested for the last six months or so.”

“Six months! But-“

“I’ve got to say, you’re a bit thick for a Slytherin,” Harry teased.

Draco’s eyes flashed. “Thick! Me? I’ve wanted you to kiss me since 4th year, maybe even 3rd year, so believe me, Potter, if there were any so-called hints to be found, I surely would have-”

Harry pulled Draco in and stopped his tirade with a hard, fast kiss. It was a technique Harry would employ for years and years and years to come, because although Draco was a changed man, he was still Draco Malfoy.